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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year

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Astarion teaching Tav embroidery/sewing. Preferably with him dragging them onto his lap for a close-up demonstration.

Why do I make everything so long? Do I have a problem? There is always so much introspective nonsense idk man. Anyway adorable idea actualized below!

Also mentions of sex but this is totally sfw. I went with the timeline of when your sleeping together but he hasn't quite admitted his feelings to himself, as a side!

Astarion had no idea how he became your camp's designated seamstress. How was it possible that a team of eight adults were all incapable of knowing the basics of such a fundamental skill?

Then again, Karlach seemed to be perfectly fine with wearing her clothes to tatters. Wyll was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Lae'zel, for some gods forsaken reason, was only capable of fixing up heavy armor. Gale seemed to prefer eating magical clothing items versus being able to salvage them and the rest were mediocre at best.

The look of confusion on Shadowheart's, who was the second most skilled by far, face when Astarion tried to explain a ladder stitch was enough for him to give up entirely. It was quicker to fix the tears then to explain simple concepts to simpletons.

Brats. All of you. With one who was significantly more brazen than the rest when it came to using Astarion as their personal tailor.

Tav, the lovely thorn in his side. Who could handle wielding a glaive with startingly accuracy, but somehow managed to consistently stab themselves every time they picked up a sewing needle. It was impressive, how useless someone who was otherwise extremely competent could be.

Impressive as it was frustrating. Because somehow you managed to destroy your clothes more often than anyone else. Always bashfully handing him over torn trousers and ripped shirts every other night. Anyone else he would have told to fuck off by now. Even the rest of the camp knew better than to test their luck with anything more than once a fortnight. But you lacked the very basic level of self-control.

It was his own fault for giving you special treatment in the first place. But sleeping together did warrant a few extra benefits. He got your protection and you got to experience the pleasure of being with him. Simple. Or it would have been if you didn't insist on making things complicated.

Because Astarion was starting to feel things. Things that he hadn't anticipated. Because your company was... oddly pleasant. You were an interesting little thing, he had to give you that. Well-read and talkative, but not boringly so. No, Astarion sometimes found himself losing track of time when he was with you. A simple question could easily turn into a two-hour conversation about the silliest things. It was... nice. New. And oh so different from what he was used to.

Cazador didn't even allow him or his brethren to speak in his home, let alone speak to each other unless it was strictly necessary. But here he was free to do whatever he pleased. And he was finding that included being near you, despite how differently you both saw the world.

He couldn't quite blame you for your delusional optimistic views. As a Tymora worshipper you were basically doomed from the start to believe inane concepts like good fortune, luck, and gods, the good that could be found in "anyone".

You were as sweet as you were aggravating and Astarion truly, honestly, had no idea how your insane trusting nature hadn't managed to get you killed yet. But then again he... kind of liked that about you. He liked that you trusted him. It made his life more convienet and... it was nice to be seen as a person worth confiding in. Instead of the blood-sucking monster he really was.

He... liked that. He liked you. A fact that he didn't enjoy thinking about. He didn't really know what to do with it, and the implications of where his feelings could lead were starting to become unsettling. So he pushed it out of his mind. It was an easy thing to do when doom was always looming in the background. He had plenty of things to think about that didn't include his fondness for you.

Like the inner-rage you caused when you managed to somehow rip the same shirt twice in one day.

"That's it," Astarion announced when you bashfully asked for his help yet again, "Come here. I'm teaching you how to sew."

"But you always get mad when you try," You whined. But despite the hesitancy you still obediently sat next to him as he got out the sewing kit, "Do you promise not to snap this time?"

"That depends," Astarion said with a roll of the eyes, "Do you intend on not maiming yourself with a sewing needle?"

Astarion smirked at the way that made a blush crawl up your neck, "That was one time!"

"Actually darling it was closer to seven," Astarion corrected as he snatched the shirt from your hands, "Now pay attention. Look at where the tear starts. Notice how it's on the seam?"

You nodded along as Astarion explained the basics to you. He could tell that you were trying your damndest to pay attention, but when it was your turn to hold the needle your hands couldn't stop shaking. Astarion frowned as he tried to watch you work, his view obfuscated by the angle and the flow of your hair.

Well that wouldn't do.

Before he could think better of it he was hauling you into his lap, ignoring your surprised squeak as he situated you just right.

That was better. At least now he could see what you were doing. It was a sloppy stich, sloppy enough for him to undo it before putting the needle back in your hand.

"Now do it again," Astarion ordered, "Let me see what your doing wrong."

Astarion watched as you tried again, frowning when he realized your shaking was even worse than before. In fact, you seemed more nervous than ever, your face red as you kept your eyes down.

It made Astarion torn between watching your hands and looking at your face. You really were adorable, getting all worked up from simply being in his lap, all while trying to stay dutifully undistracted. He could almost hear your heart racing, obvious through the tension coursing through you.

Silly little thing, acting all shy like he hadn't already literally been inside of you. But at least you were doing better, your stitching straighter than Astarion had ever seen it. Maybe he'd have to make the lap-sitting mandatory from now on, for the good of your learning.

"See," Astarion said softly, his breath tickling your ear as he leaned in closer, "You're perfectly capable of learning this."

"So it looks good?" You asked, taking a chance to glance at him. Astarion hadn't realized just how close the two of you really were. He had never... seen you like this before. So closely. Even when you slept together, he had been a bit distracted by other parts of your body. He never noticed just how many light freckles were hiding across the bridge of your nose, how your eyes looked almost golden in candlelight. You smelled nice too, sweet. Like you had been rolling around in a field of lilies. Considering your personality, Astarion had to wonder if that's exactly what you did.

It would take almost nothing to press your lips together. Barely a turn on the head.

"Astarion, are you listening?"

The sound of his voice snapped him out of his revelry. He straightened, clearing his throat as he looked over your work again, embarrassed in a way that he couldn't quite describe.

Maybe you weren't the only one being affected after all.

"It looks better," Astarion said honestly, "But still needs work. You'll almost certainly be needing more lessons."

Preferably like this. Astarion wasn't quite ready to let you go yet, not when you felt so pleasantly warm in his lap. But luckily enough for him, you didn't seem quite so keen to leave.

Astarion tightened his hold on you laughing at the way it made you gasp, "But that's enough for today. I think you've earned a reward. Don't you?"

"I-yes?" You said back, your eyes flitting from Astarion's mouth and back, "Please?"

You really were too precious. How could he possibly say no to that?

Astarion grinned as he tilted your chin up, finally pressing your lips together. It was an odd feeling, kissing someone when he couldn't stop smiling, but he supposed you just had that effect on him.

Maybe being the camp seamstress wasn't so bad after all.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #cutsey #this was a very cute idea

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after-witch · 1 year

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Alone in the Dark [Gojo x Reader]

Title: Alone in the Dark [Gojo x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re training alone and Gojo has some… ideas for how to improve on your training.

Word Count: 6000ish

notes: noncon blowjob, noncon cunnilingus (done on reader), degradation/humiliation, some misogyny, mentions of reader childbearing, Gojo being a nasty creep

There was no place in the world of sorcerers for someone like you. You were too kind, too sweet--too soft.

That’s what everyone (or almost everyone) told you, almost for as long as you can remember. Yes, you can remember being a child and hearing adults tut-tut at the way you served others before yourself; at the way you made everyone stop so that a group of ducklings could cross the road; at the way you fretted over your brother when he came home black and blue and scratched-red from fighting curses.

It was bad, they said, for you to focus so much on caring for others and not enough on developing the strong skills to do what is necessary. Even when what is necessary might not be what is just or kind or thoughtful.

If you were to lament about these frustrations to the average non-sorcerer, you imagine they might widen their eyes, put their hand to their heart, or maybe even rest a hand on your shoulder. You poor thing! They might say. How cruel.

Was it cruel? You weren’t sure. You didn’t have anything else to compare it with--this was how most generations-long sorcerer families raised their children. You had to excel, you had to be strong, there was no room for weakness.

Kindness, it seems, was a weakness.

But… maybe your sweet personality wasn’t a complete weakness. Because your family didn’t throw you out, as some families did with the weaker leaks in their formidable chains. Instead, they pivoted.

If you weren’t going to be a stony-hearted sorcerer who could take down curses with their eyes closed (no pun intended, they would say, if they had a sense of humor) you would serve the family in another way.

You must still be strong, yes, but you could keep your tendency to dote and devote yourself to others if you were to take on another role: a wife. More than that--a mother. Marry a strong sorcerer, have lots of children, continue the line until your body could no longer stand having children.

And so you grew up learning duties of a different kind. How to manage a household--from the servants you would be expected to order around to keeping track of linens and pantries; how to sew, because while servants would no doubt do any heavy lifting, you could at least be expected to fix your husband’s garments or embroider a family crest on them; how to dote in the right way, acquiescing to your husband while doing your best to maintain the honor and reputation of your old and new families. How to raise children--the right way, so they hopefully don’t end up like you, needing to be delicately placed into a niche.

All this, while strengthening your jujutsu, while practicing harnessing your cursed energy, while knowing that you were not what your family wanted but you weren’t entirely useless, and you had to make the best of that.

Now that you’re an adult of marriageable age, it’s only a matter of time before they find a suitable husband for you. He must be from one of the great families, of course. You were too important to marry off to some low-level sorcerer without a stellar reputation. Not only that, but marrying someone from a prominent family (a strong family) would increase the chances that your children would be strong.

Strong children--strong sorcerers. More sorcerers--more soldiers in the ongoing battle against curses.

And if you wanted to do your duty, then you needed to be strong enough to perform it. No sorcerer wanted a weak little thing for a wife, did they? Of course not.

That’s what brought you here, alone, isolated and tired but so damn determined to improve yourself. It was your idea to come here, which seemed to please your parents. Your cursed energy has been running a little too wild lately, seeping out of you, escaping in little trickles.

It’s your own fault. Admitting this also seemed to please your parents, though it made a low pit form in your stomach, and you didn’t dare divulge into why it was your fault that cursed energy was streaking out of you like a stubborn dripping faucet.

You have too much self-doubt. You’re too worried about letting people down. You’re not confident enough, strong enough, and if you aren’t strong enough then you aren’t good enough regardless of how well you might perform on the wifely front in front of the increasingly judgemental matchmaker your parents brought in to monitor your progress.

But, no, you couldn’t say any of this to your parents. It’s not that they wouldn’t understand. It’s that they wouldn’t care. Self-doubt? No room for that here. Get rid of it. No confidence? How could you lack confidence, given your heritage? Change. No no, to be more precise, they would say: shut up, deal with it, then change.

The only person you did explain any of this to was Satoru Gojo, a friend (or colleague? Or friend-colleague? Or colleague-friend? You were never entirely sure where you stood with him) who would at least listen without completely dismissing you. Not that he did much more than cluck at you condescendingly and offer to marry you--in jest--to get your folks off your back.

You’d laughed and swatted him in the shoulder (which he didn’t mind you doing, leading you to think friend-first-then-colleague is the more appropriate moniker) and asked him for advice.

Which is what has led you here to train, alone and hard. But training was meant to be hard, so you couldn’t complain. And training alone would give you the focus you needed to actually improve.

And you would improve. You had to--not just for your family but for yourself, and your future. The wife of a sorcerer (you tried not to think too far beyond that, to what your parents had been grooming you for: to become a matriarch in the continuing line of your family’s clan) still had to be strong enough not to let cursed energy seep from her so easily.

With the right training, you were going to get better.

Right?

Right.

This is what you needed: time alone.

Because although you plan to be here for much longer, you can already tell that you’re sewing up those weaknesses within you, preventing cursed energy from sneaking out like it had been doing so readily for the past few months.

Confidence was key, after all. Your family had never been wrong on that front. You just needed to get away from the stresses of life to regain that confidence.

You sigh through your nose. The air down here is stale, but it’s not surprising. It’s not like there was anyone down here but you and the darkness and--

“Hey!”

You and the darkness and… Gojo Satoru.

“How are your leaks?!” His voice rings out cheerfully in the empty space, almost echoing.

For a moment, you fracture, and you can feel something trickle out of you. But you hold your breath and regain your senses, forcing yourself to regrip the focus you’d been maintaining for hours now.

Breathe in.

It’s just Gojo.

Breathe out.

Coming to check on you. Which means he cares, in his own way, which is more than you can say for a lot of people. But you wish he’d told you that he intended on coming. It’s a bit jarring, and a whisper of embarrassment begins to build in your chest. He was, as he didn’t mind saying (it could not rightfully be called bragging)-- “the best.”

You hear his footsteps before you see him in the dim lighting. His slow, aimless walk might have even seemed a bit creepy, if you weren’t already used to it. Or if he hadn’t called out beforehand.

He grins when he comes into view, hands in the pockets of his trousers. He’s wearing his sunglasses today, his hair down and loose. He gives a short wave, and you bite back a sigh. You don’t want to stand up--you’re still training--so you merely straighten your back a little and wave back.

“Ah, Gojo. Have I really been down here that long?” You wonder if anyone in your family has bothered to wonder where you were or took the time to track you down.

“Ah, Satoru,” he says, idly. “Oh, it’s only been a few hours.”

Just like that, there’s a sting in your chest. A few hours? Why would he check on you so early? Did he think you were that weak? Were you that weak? No--you shake the thought away, willing yourself to maintain focus, maintain the layer that keeps your cursed energy from releasing.

No, he was just… concerned about you. This would be the first time you’ve done something like this, after all. And he was always telling you that he’d be happy to give you advice, and he didn’t have the same sarcastic twang in his voice reserved for people he didn’t care for.

“So…” Gojo crouches down, getting close to your eye level. “You think you’re doing well?”

You let a smile show. A shy little smile, the kind you gave when you were feeling genuinely proud. Those smiles were few and far between when it came to your family, but you didn’t mind them in front of people like Gojo.

“Mm-hmm. I think coming here is helping me regain a sense of…” Your eyebrows furrow as he stands up and begins walking around you in slow, lazy circles. “Purpose?” Your head follows him, but he doesn’t stop or acknowledge what he’s doing. “Or um, confidence.”

He stops only when he’s right in front of you, but instead of crouching he merely leans down and gets right up in your face, a smile with a hint of teeth showing. The proximity brings heat to your face, and you lean back. He follows your motion, blue eyes behind his glasses peering at you in an almost uncharacteristically serious manner.

After a few moments, he speaks--

“I’d like to conduct a test.”

You fidget in your seated position.

“A test?”

Your heart beats a little faster--one, two, three. But you’re not worried. It’s more like you can feel the first creepy-crawlies of self doubt making their way back up your spine. Why does Gojo want to test you? He’s smarter and stronger and there’s a reason he’s consulted so much on teaching others, so… so…

You swallow that “so” while you wait for him to answer.

He taps his chin in a dramatic way, and it makes you feel better. At least, until he starts talking and seemingly confirms those creepy-crawlies. Not intentionally, though--he wouldn’t do that.

“Yes, a test! A truly great jujutsu sorcerer must be able to maintain control in all situations, no?” He waves his hands around at the surrounding space, the emptiness except for you and him. “Not in isolation. You won’t be fighting curses in isolation, will you? You won’t be fighting curse users in isolation, will you?” He asks these last two questions slowly, kindly. It makes you feel younger and more stupid, and you make a note to talk to him later about that, since he wouldn’t knowingly hurt your feelings.

“I…” You lick your lips. You brought a case of water, but you haven’t yet opened it, and your mouth is dry. Too dry. But that’s not important. What’s important is that Gojo has presented you with a very realistic, all-too-true conundrum.

You shake your head too slowly for your own liking. “No, I… I guess I won’t be.”

“You guess?” He asks, voice taking on an almost sing-song tone at the end that plucks at one of your fraying nerves.

Your heart pounds just a little harder, you feel a trickle of sweat on your forehead that you don’t wipe away. You force your breathing to even, your muscles to relax.

“I won’t be,” you reaffirm, removing all traces of doubt in your face. “I know I won’t be.”

He already started the test, you think, he just didn’t tell you. You might be mad but you’re not, not really. It’s just like Gojo to pluck out your weaknesses so he can help you better them, isn’t it? That’s what he’s here for, what he’s always been here for. To help you improve. To help you.

And you? You can do this. You were born and raised, literally, to do this. To be the best sorcerer you could be, and if you need someone like Gojo to help you, who were you to reject him? Nobody.

And so, when Gojo hums happily and plops himself down in front of you, crossing his legs to mimic your own position, you take a breath and remind yourself how lucky you are to have someone like him ready to help instead of quietly watching you fail, waiting for your downfall and wondering if it would help boost their own family’s status to knock you down a peg.

Gojo wouldn’t do that, not to you.

You take another breath, and Gojo stares at you, blinks--once, twice.

“Ready?”

You smile a little, sigh a little, and nod.

“Let’s do this.”

It takes your brain a few moments to process what happens, because it’s like there is a disconnect between your brain and your body and your soul and you don’t know how to tether them altogether again.

Gojo kisses you.

Not a chaste peck, either, but warm and wet, his tongue sliding over your lips; a slimy feeling you’ve never experienced before.

You jerk back before you know you do it, your eyes wide, knuckles pressed to your mouth.

“What--G-Gojo--”

Gojo doesn’t move from his spot on the floor. He doesn’t even seem bothered by your reaction or anything at all.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, eyeing you through his glasses. He looks above you, around you. “You’re leaking again.”

Your chest seizes. He’s right--when he kissed you, what control you’ve been confidently rebuilding was completely lost.

“I… I don’t understand how this is a test,” you get out. The words are slow and you feel stupid for saying them.

“Oh!” Gojo grins, then. “Sorry. Guess I should have explained, huh? I bet you never had training like this. Ah…” He leans forward, leaning his elbow on his knee and resting his chin lazily on his hand. “You have to be able to control your cursed energy in any situation, right?”

He waits for you to nod, so you do.

“And curses or curse users don’t always play fair. They may do something you don’t expect.”

“They won’t kiss me,” you say, but as soon as you say it, Gojo’s expression makes you question yourself. “Will… they?”

Gojo sighs, and moves to stand up.

“I guess I was wrong about you.”

Your chest hurts.

“You aren’t ready for this type of training.” He’s almost talking to himself now, getting ready to stand. “Maybe in a few years. Or, ah, maybe your family would rather you get married and your husband can decide if he wants you to reach your full potential. Maybe they won’t care, if you have enough kids…”

You try to clamp down on a stream of energy steadily making its way out of you. It’s like soured milk, bitterness, self-doubt, all clawing their way up your spine and out of you.

“Wait--” You reach for him and grip his sleeve. “I-I am ready, it’s just, I wasn’t expecting… that. I’m sorry. Please train me.” If Gojo won’t train you, won’t help you, then no one will.

Gojo tilts his head at you, considering. Then he slowly sits back down.

“Ooo-ookay. But you have to let me do my job, okay? I know what I’m doing.” He pokes you above your chest, on a clavicle showing above your shirt. The touch makes you jump. Almost makes you forget the lingering warmth on your lips… almost.

“Control your energy,” Gojo says casually. “No matter what, okay?”

You nod. And you wonder if he’ll kiss you again, but no, he’ll do something else. Try to attack you without warning or bring up something strange or maybe even try to dig under your skin with some sort of verbal spitfire.

He doesn’t do any of that.

Instead, he grips the bottom of your shirt and begins peeling it upwards with such quickness and strength that your arms go flying up with the fabric.

A noise escapes you, something like an undignified squawk, but you’re too unprepared and Gojo pulls the shirt up and over your head before you can protest or even try to stop him.

You do, however, regain your reaction time when your shirt is tossed to the side and quickly cross your arms over your bare chest. You didn’t even wear a bra, wanting to keep yourself to as few layers as possible, although it was more uncomfortable to go without because of your larger breasts.

Your cheeks burn terribly hot and you don’t know what you want to say. You just know

“S-Stop, this is, that is--this isn’t…”

This isn’t training, is it? A kiss, okay, okay, that’s something Gojo might do to tease you. Even if he went too far. But your clothes? No, no, no--

Gojo doesn’t stop smiling. You want him to stop smiling, to apologize, and to leave. But you don’t get what you want.

“This isn’t what?” He asks. There’s a stickiness to his voice that is like a filmy layer growing in your gut.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. Instead, he reaches out and grabs your wrists, pulling them down so you can’t keep them crossed over your chest. You gasp but he keeps them held down while he leers down at your bared breasts.

He’s faster than you, and his hands are underneath your breasts, pushing them up and jiggling them before you can blink.

“These are pretty bouncy, huh?” He murmurs, to himself or maybe you, you’re not sure which would make you feel worse. Your face burns hot and your feeble attempts at batting his hands away get you nowhere. “But you’re always hiding them…” He continues to bounce your ample breasts up and down.

You can’t take it. Your skin feels like it’s on fire and you’re being touched in a way you’ve never been touched, and it’s Gojo, he shouldn’t be, he couldn’t be, doing this.

“St-stop,” you spit out, finally getting the presence of mind to jerk your body away. Amidst the embarrassment and shock is a thready bit of indignity. You aren’t some… some floozy, you’re part of a highly respected sorcerer family. He can’t just--

“This--this isn’t training! You’re just being perv--”

He presses a finger to your lips, and you hush stupidly with it. He takes it away and regards you with an expression you’ve seen him use with particularly stubborn would-be sorcerers.

“Aren’t I stronger than you?”

“Yes,” you say, helplessly. “But--”

Your hands go to cover your breast, and he bats them away.

“Don’t I know more than you?”

“Yes, but--”

“Then let me help you,” he says, taking and squeezing your hands with such earnestness that it throws your mind off balance.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” you admit, voice mumbling and stumbling. Your eyes widen and you feel hot tears working their way to the corners of your eyes. He shouldn’t touch you… he shouldn’t!

Gojo merely uses his grip on your hands to clap them together.

“But it’s working, isn’t it? The more distracted you are, the more likely you are to leak energy. And that’s bad, right?”

While he speaks, his fingers release yours, only to slither down to the waistband of your skirt. Your breath hitches.

“Y-Yes,” you mutter.

“What is it?” he asks, fingers latching onto your waistband and tugging it down. You squirm, but he persists.

His question only dimly registers until he yanks down your skirt, pulling it down your seated legs.

“B-Bad?” You should tell him to stop. You should leave. But he’s… Gojo… and you’re just--

“And if you can control yourself, that’s…” He drawls out these words,, placing a finger on your clothed pussy and dragging it down the middle.

“Good,” you squeak, voice tight and tinny.

“Right.” He grins, all praises.

Your legs do kick then, and you try to scoot backwards, away, away, away. But he presses one hand down on your bare thigh, and you’re stuck.

“This isn’t training,” you plead, mouth opening and closing like a fish, shocked and stupid.

He peers down at you from behind his glasses.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Your heart lurches. It aches.

“I d-d-do,” you spit out, jaw trembling as much as your body. “But…”

He gives your thigh a good squeeze.

“Th-th-then just let me do this for you, okay?”

The growing knot in your stomach twists and pulls terribly.

“How is this for me?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Instead he grips your inner thighs and pulls your legs apart. You’re aware, suddenly, of how physically strong he is--stronger than you, certainly, enough that what feeble attempts at struggling you’re still giving do nothing at all.

“I’m helping you,” he says, pulling out the word so that it’s almost a whine. “You help people all the time. I just want to return the favor. Now try to focus, okay?” As he speaks, he finally pulls at the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down your legs that have begun to feel like jelly.

“Wow.” He pulls his glasses down his nose and stares directly at your naked sex. “You have a really pretty pussy. I bet it tastes just as nice, huh?”

If your cheeks got any hotter, they might be on fire. Sweat beads at the back of your neck, your arms, your forehead.

“D-Don’t,” you say, wishing you had the guts to shut your legs and leave. But you can’t, or you won’t, you’re not sure which.

“Shhh,” he says, kneeling until he’s sprawled on the floor in between your legs. You couldn’t close them now if you had the strength. “Try to focus. That’s why I’m helping you train, right?”

The teasing glint in his tone only makes you feel worse, but it’s nothing compared to the first puff of his breath you feel against your sex.

You make a sound almost like a squeak and Gojo lets out another puff of air, on purpose this time, murmuring something happily when you keep making those noises.

“St--” You don’t get to finish the word before his mouth is on you, not bothering with any tentative licks but sloppily eating you out.

It’s an entirely foreign sensation, wet and warm, uncomfortable and strange. The fact that he keeps making positively lascivious noises only makes you feel more incapable of ignoring the reality. You shake your head and dig your nails into your palm, trying to process what’s happening as an uncomfortable heat builds between your legs.

Before long, he pulls away, and there’s a sick sensation in your stomach when you see that his lips are glossy with... with… you.

“You’re leaking down here,” he says, with the utmost of seriousness. “But I guess you can’t clamp down on that kind of leak, huh?”

You press your lips together and refuse to acknowledge him with a response.

He shrugs and goes back down between your legs, lapping at your clit with short licks of his tongue. The direct stimulation is different--tighter and more intense, and the sounds you can’t help but make are wholly undignified, short gasps and high-pitched grunts.

“Has anyone ever done this before?” He asks, pulling himself away by a fraction of an inch.

“Of course not!” Your cheeks burn at the audacity of the question. “I-I don’t, I’m not supposed to do… that before marriage.” Why you can’t seem to explicitly talk about sex to the man who is currently devouring your pussy, you don’t know.

“Ohhhh,” he says. The words are practically spoken into your twitching clit. “That makes sense… well.” He looks up at you, and flashes a smile. “Maybe we’ll get married. Can’t say I haven’t heard that rumor before.”

Before you can utter any sort of response, he leans forward and pushes you onto your back. With his body in between your legs, your legs fold over at the knee awkwardly, almost making it look like you’re displaying yourself for him.

“S-Satoru,” you say, voice hoarse, “I want to leave now.”

He shakes his head and holds up a finger.

“No way! We’re not done with training yet. Look at all that energy just seeping out of you. Tsk-tsk.” He puts the finger on his chin. “But don’t worry. I have another technique that should help… remember to focus!”

You don’t know exactly what he means until you watch warily as he lowers his finger and presses it against your wet entrance.

“No--”

But he doesn’t wait. He pushes his finger inside of you and your breath is taken away at the sudden intrusion. There’s pain and ache and the unusual foreign sensation of something inside you. You can’t help it, you clench around his finger and he coos appreciatively.

“I appreciate it,” he tells you, all honey, “but save that for my cock.”

“S-Satoru!” You whimper the words out, squirming, wiggling your legs in the air like it might actually stop him. You can feel cursed energy seeping out through you, like there’s a hole you can’t quite patch up. You fight between acknowledging what Satoru is doing--pushing his finger in and out now, sliding inside you, it hurts and feels weird but there’s a warmth, too--and keeping your cursed energy inside.

“Don’t worry,” he teases. “Not today. Don’t got the time…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hating the hot tears that leak out, and stare up at the ceiling. Focus… focus… focus. You do focus, then, on keeping your energy from leaking out. Not because this is training--it’s not, you’re naive, not stupid--but because maybe it’s easier to bear all of this if you keep part of your mind elsewhere.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Keep concentrating… gee, you’re doing great.” The snicker in his voice makes your stomach lurch. You wish he would stop pretending this was training. It only makes it worse.

And then suddenly there’s another sensation of intrusion, and you look down to realize that he’s pushed another finger inside you.

“Hmm,” he muses. “You know, I wonder…”

Your jaw trembles as he pushes his fingers in further and wiggles them around, almost like he’s feeling for something. And then--

You shriek, your body jolts upward, and you sit fully up and instinctively grab his wrists.

“That’s the spot!” He grins, laughing, and pulls his fingers out only to bat your hands away. Then he gently pushes you back down onto the ground. Your thighs are trembling and you can feel wetness trickling out of you, slow and uncomfortable.

“I bet you’ve never been able to reach this far with your little fingers. Don’t worry, I’ll help you…”

You push yourself up on your elbows and shake your head.

“No… you, you don’t have to. You don’t need to, I’m--”

He interrupts your pitiful pleads by pushing his fingers back inside, and your breath hitches at the sensation.

“’Course I do! Gotta teach you everything. What kind of sorcerer would I be if I left you in the dust?” He watches you intently over his glasses, the blue in them agonizingly beautiful, and he finds that spot again.

But this time, he doesn't graze it in curiosity. Instead, he presses down and strokes it and it’s like an immediate shock to the system. A burst of almost painful pleasure, causing your legs to aimlessly kick and shudder without you controlling them and you let out a primal groan, not words exactly, just mumbled pleas. You feel something squirt out of you and hear Gojo’s surprised sound, a little pleased exclamation.

He doesn’t stop, though, but keeps going. The white-hot pleasure is like being touched in all the right places in all the wrong ways, and you can’t stop your thighs from quaking.

“Too much too much too much!” You get the words out, just barely, drool dribbling down your lips.

Mercifully, he pulls his finger out. You can see him look down at them through his tears, and he tsks lightly.

“You know, for such an innocent girl, you're soaking. Or is that why you’re so wet? Because I’m the first one to touch you?” He leans in and presses an almost chaste kiss to your lips. You can taste something on them, salty and almost earthy. Yourself.

“I hope I’m the last, too.”

When he pulls away, you eventually sit back up and, arms shaking, reach over for your underwear.

At this, Gojo tilts his head.

“What are you doing?”

It’s your turn to tilt your head, though you can’t tell if you’re mirroring him intentionally or not.

“My… clothes,” you say, slowly. “I’m putting them on.” Because this is over, right? He’s had his fun and you can leave and never talk to him again.

“We’re not done yet, silly.” He grabs your underwear and shoves them into his pocket, then stands up and stretches his arms casually.

You stare up at him, naked, warm wetness between your legs. Feeling dazed and spent and tired.

You’re about to ask what he means when he simply unbuttons his pants and pulls them down, boxers and all, without a word or a warning.

He grins, like he’s just shown you a present. What he’s shown you is his erect cock, glistening at the end with a wetness of its own. You’ve never actually seen a man naked before, a few photos in a pilfered naughty magazine that you snuck out of a friend’s house notwithstanding. It’s fleshy and slick, thick.

“Now,” Gojo says, looking down at you in more ways than one. “Here’s the real test!”

His name comes out of your mouth pitifully, but he just pushes a finger to your lips and smiles.

“C’mon. You’re sweet, aren’t you? Always helping everyone else. I helped you just now, so now you return the favor. Easy.”

Your face screws up in a grimace. You can feel hot tears still pricking at your eyes, threatening to fall again. Then you look up at his face and down at his cock and then back at his face.

You’re not entirely ignorant of what he wants you to do--you just know that seeing a picture or reading about it in a spicy novel is far different than experiencing it for real. Especially like this. Especially with him.

“I don’t… I’ve never…”

He pats the top of your head gently, but strangely, keeps his palm on the back of your head afterward.

“I know, I know. But I’ll teach you. Besides,” and there’s that awful grin in this tone again, “it’s not enough to control your energy while things are being done to you. You have to control it while you do things to others, right?”

He shifts forward and his cock is right in front of your face. You can’t really look away. You can smell him, even, a musky smell. Not wholly unpleasant but like the taste on your lips from his own, there’s an earthiness to it. A primal sense.

You want to run. You should. Others would in this situation, wouldn’t they? But he’ll just bring you back, if you do. Or worse, let you go and… who knows what he might say to others? At least if you do what he wants, he can’t do anything worse than this.

You hope.

“What do I do?” You whisper.

He releases his grip on your head only to clap his hands twice.

“There’s my girl! You’ve got the right spirit.” He beams down at you and you hate how the blue of his eye peeks through the top of his glasses and the way his smile should make you feel good, but only makes you squirm.

He shifts forward again until his cock brushes up against your cheek. You gasp and lean backward, only to find that his hand is back against your head, keeping you in please.

“Open your mouth,” he says, almost sweetly.

And you don’t want that thing on your face anymore so you do, opening just a little.

“Wider. Like you’re at the dentist. Watch your teeth.” He sounds more serious. Like he’s instructing you--and he is, isn’t he? you think, sickly.

You open wide, feeling stupid, feeling sick, as he guides his cock into your mouth. He lets out a sigh of appreciation as he pushes inside, and you instinctively make a muffled noise of protest--this isn’t right, this isn’t right. In front of you are his naked hips, the base of his cock, a smattering of pubic hair.

The taste of him is vaguely salty and warm, but it’s the sensation of having something--having him--filling your mouth that makes you back your head up, wanting him out. But the hand on the back of your head keeps you in place, pushing. His cock hits the back of your throat and you gag. Tears stream down your cheeks from reflex and the realization of what’s happening.

He snickers, but pulls back a little.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be more gentle.”

He begins to move, then. Slowly at first. You don’t do anything but keep your mouth open, keep your tongue pressed flat to avoid touching his cock, though you soon find this to be an impossible task. You can’t help but gag a little when he pushes, but at least he seems to be trying to avoid doing it on purpose.

It’s a small mercy, you think, though what counts for “mercy” right now is highly debatable.

Your cheeks are hot like fire as you begin to taste more of him, feel more of him. He’s inside you, all flesh and warmth, an extension of himself that he’s using to--to what? Tease you? Use you? Something else?

He begins to move faster, and you gag, trying to mumble his name in plea around his cock. He groans and the hand on your head grips harder.

“Oh, fuck, don’t do that. I won’t be able to control myself.”

You want to sob but you’re afraid of moving your mouth so much. The tears fall down your face, regardless.

“Good girl, you’re being so good… you were born for this, weren’t you?”

When you look up, Satoru is looking down at you the way you think someone might look at a nice collectible figurine. A precious item to be touched and dusted at whim.

“Born to be a good sorcerer’s wife,” he continues, and it’s almost as if he’s talking more to himself than to you. “That’s what we’re doing now, aren’t we? Practicing that? There’s all sorts of training for sorcerers, you know…” His thrusts begin to get less controlled, quicker. “Practicing controlling energy… controlling techniques… all those little nuances of life as a sorcerer. Like this.” The thrusts are so quick that you start making helpless noises around them, little grunts. “You’d be a good wife, m-maybe--” His breath hitches, the first time you’ve heard him lose control. “Even a good mother, after a while.”

You make a sound of protest--it’s the last thing you want to be thinking of right now--but he shushes you and starts thrusting sloppily, clearly lost in his thoughts. “You’ve even got nice big tits, don’t you? Perfect for breastfeeding or, fuck, holding onto while we fuck…” He sighs, languid. “I’ll try that next time, okay? Gotta be patient.”

His words seep into you like cursed energy, confusing (it is true, you were raised to be a wife, raised to have children,--but this?) and hurtful and twisting in your stomach.

Suddenly he pulls himself out of your mouth. Your lips make a wet plop and you open them to start to ask what he’s doing, but you don’t have the time to ask, because there’s suddenly something warm and thick all over your face. Something lands on your lashes and you blink, feeling a salty sting on your eye.

Your pussy clenches and you don’t know why.

As you sit there, shocked, dazed, you hear a click.

Oh.

He took a picture.

You wipe at your eye, cringing at the feeling of something wet and globby on your hands, and look at him with wide, teary eyes.

“Just for safekeeping,” he says, tucking the phone into his pocket. “Wouldn’t want this to get out, would you? Would definitely put a damper on your marriage prospects…”

There’s no reason you shouldn’t sob, now, without Gojo in your mouth. So you do. Your face crumples and everything that just happened hits you all at once, until you’re weeping pitifully in front of him.

You’re dimly aware of him leaning down before he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his cum off your face like he’s wiping at a bit of stubborn dirt. He wipes at your tears with his fingers, at least.

“Don’t be so glum! You did great!”

He presses a kiss to your cheek and straightens up.

“I’ll be sure to tell your father about your improvements in cursed energy control. He’ll be happy, don’t you think?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t have words anymore.

He leaves, his footsteps receding loud. You don’t watch him go. Instead you sit there in the same position, naked, wet, feeling sticky and used.

And like that, you’re alone again.

You don’t try to dampen down the energy that leaks from you this time.

#gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #afterwitch writes

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celeste-clearwater-06 · 5 months

Text

heartbeat (thorin oakenshield x female!modern! reader)

gif by me!!

desc. - reader puts her CPR lessons to good use when thorin's on the brink of death. (inspired by an imagine by @imaginexhobbit but make it sad🫶 also i listened to "farewell to dobby" while reading this, it adds so muchhh)

warnings - angst 💔

word count - 2.7k

For most of the time you’d been traveling with Thorin and his merry band of warriors, you could only account a few times you provided yourself useful to the group. Bofur was a whittler and toy maker, Oin a healer, Ori a scribe. Thorin and his sister-sons, the rightful heir to a kingdom. Even Bilbo had squeezed his way into a position of burglary, though he was hardly fit, and was still fighting to prove himself.

You?

A few stories around the campfire. Some questions answered about where you’d appeared from out of nowhere in particular. Mouth watering modern food recipes you babbled on about, over rabbit stew Bombur happily served on the cold nights on the road. And sure, you were getting good with a sword, but not nearly as skillful as the fearless fighter Dwalin.

You could see the malevolence and distaste in Thorin’s eyes when Gandalf decided for himself that you would make a fine addition to the group. After all, some otherworldly stranger happening upon them just as their fateful quest began was no coincidence. To him it meant something. But to the leader of the group? Danger? Deadweight? You couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it settled behind his cold, steel-blue eyes and swelled whenever he watched you fail miserably at every task given.

You simply weren’t built for a world like this.

Thorin didn’t hate you. He wasn’t necessarily fond of you either. And how you longed to fit in, impress him maybe. Break past whatever tough exterior that he used to keep a distance between the two of you. Pushing too much would surely annoy him, so you opted to keep to yourself, sitting back and placing yourself near Gandalf and the witty Bilbo Baggins, who seemed to have walked a few miles in your own shoes. If he could wear them, that is. Hoping maybe one day the King under the mountain would come around. Maybe.

But now, soaring over the horizon of a morning sun and above the towering mountains, on the feathered back of a massive bird, Bilbo had proven himself in his bravery, and you were alone and useless in your skills.

You were seated atop the same eagle as the halfling, right behind another that carried Thorin’s limp body in its talons, wind and the worried cries of his nephews rushing through your hair and past your ears. Azog’s fight was not an easy one. Not that you could do much anyways, dangling uselessly from a blazing pine tree and fingers slipping from its scorching branches. But Thorin, ever the brave, was taken down quickly.

Thank the lord for Gandalf’s endless alliances.

Now, the eagles circled a plateau, oddly sticking out from above high treetops like a sore thumb, and began to descend to its slanted surface where each member of the company jumped off. Some destination this was, hundreds of feet off the ground. You’d think they might find a safer spot to land this band of underground dwelling travelers but beggars can’t be choosers. At least you were out of harm's way for the time being. The eagle you and Bilbo rode flew low enough for you to hop off and land safely on the cliff’s surface, then turn and see Thorin, unconscious and unmoving, set down gently in front of the rest of the group.

They all crowded around him, shouting and shaking his body vigorously, but to no avail. Your stomach dropped when you heard one of them mutter a word that sounded like “dead”.

You rushed over, just getting a few glimpses of his face from behind the heads of thick hair and heavy fur coats circling him like vultures, Bilbo at your heels and following in curiosity.

“He’s not breathing!”

“Thorin! Thorin, wake up!” A hand tapped on the side of his face.

You immediately began shouting to clear some room. The sea of worried dwarves parted for you, just enough room to sling your haversack off your shoulders and lean down on your knees, bringing an ear to his mouth. They were right. Not a breath to be heard. Nor a pulse, you discovered, after placing your fingers to the side of his cold neck.

“No…no no, no.”

The company shared confused mutters and looks, worry lines still etched like canyons in their faces as they watched you clamor to unclasp his thick cloak and pull away as much clothing as you could from his chest.

Now, you were no doctor. Not even a medical student for that matter. Just barely scraping by with an art degree and two, low paying part-time jobs back home. Wherever that was. But, thankfully, those required CPR lessons back in junior high suddenly came rushing back to you, and you were gonna put to the best use you could.

You locked your elbows, flattened your palms, and then hastily pressed against the brute of his firm chest. Mahal, it was stubborn, and the armored shirt between your hands and his heart was no help, but acting quickly spared no time for shedding any more of his clothes. Again and again you pressed, one, two, just how the instructor taught you with her quick tongue and loud voice.

“An even pace! You’re going to lose him!”

The recall made your head spin, especially considering it might have been a bit comedic at the time, trying to revive an armless mannequin on the tile floor of your classroom. But under the steady pressure of your palms was a real person, teetering on the edge of life and death.

Gandalf landed somewhere behind you, being the last to touch ground, but he was forgotten in the sea of deep voices asking what you could possibly be doing.

By the 16th compression, you were beginning to break a sweat. Twenty, twenty one…

“Lass… what are ya’ doing?” Bofur's voice, usually friendly and jovial, was a low and cowering one. His question left the rest of the group quiet. You heard, but you didn’t answer. That would be for later when this was over. Preferably with a happy ending.

Thirty.

You moved to pinch Thorin's nose shut, tilting his head just slightly off the ground with the other hand tangled in his hair and breathed into his open mouth.

Any and all bewildered muttering was lost on the focus you had, to watch for any movement in his relaxed face.

You breathed again, and then bent over to listen. Nothing.

Now things began to get more grave than you’d taken them before.

You moved back to begin compressions again, this time pressing harder and deeper against his heart. You lifted a forearm to wipe the sweat gathering on your brow.

In your class, you were supposed to take turns, and rotate when one got tired so they could properly compress. But this wasn’t class.

Thorin was beneath the weight of your hands and his face was losing color.

“Come on… come on Thorin.”

You lost count after the 19th shove downwards, adrenaline kicking in and tears blurring the corners of your eyes as Thorin convulsed.

A warm hand settled on your shoulder above.

“Lass… he-” you smacked it away, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach like fire that you spat out.

“No! No he’s not, n-not yet.”

Again, you breathed into his airway, heavy and even, like you were supposed to. You were doing everything right. So why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t he breathing?

This was the quietest you had ever heard the company. Only birds and the sound of your exhausted, heaving breaths and choking sobs floating in the cool morning air.

You moved back to compressions, starting again, one, two, three. You were begging him, hysterically pleading his unresponsive body to kick start back up.

“Please Thorin. Come on.”

Now tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks, warm and bothersome and blinding, falling over your hands and his clothes. Your arms ached at the now desperate shoving against his heart. You looked pathetic, like a widow begging for scraps of Thorin’s lifeline, something to get him through. The ground dug harshly into your knees, bruising and irritating them through the pants as they dully scraped with each movement.

Twenty two.

You were slowing down, growing weary and tired from the work. But it wasn’t good enough. At this point, with the silent stares, you knew that even the ever stubborn dwarves had lost hope for their leader some time ago. And you had too, but now you were already getting past the twenty-fifth press down. Curse the lot of them, just staring down at you with pity as you sniffed and wiped the snot and tears from your face. And curse the beauty of the morning sun peaking over the mountains, so regal and beautiful, and staring down at the morose show of a sad little human weeping to herself.

“Please… please, God you idiot. Running down there like that.”

A cry frogged its way out of the back of your throat, raspy and gurgling. You lift his head for the third time, sniffed in and then pushed your shaking breath as hard as you could manage, pulled away, then back down to press your quivering lips upon his cold ones and-

A breath. Soft and faint, just barely there, and it slightly cooled the tears on your face.

You froze, staring down at Thorin to see his eyes twitch just slightly underneath their lids. Another exhale fled him, his time much more apparent, and his brows furrowed as he stirred awake. The gasps and shouts from the company, scrambling over and circling him like they did before to help him up as he came to.

“He’s alive!”

“A miracle! Bless the Valor!”

You lifted yourself from the ground, onto your feet, but the shock of your attempts actually working, and exhaustion, just left you to stumble backwards onto your butt, crying harder than before, in relief and joy, nonetheless sobbing like your life depended on it. You gave into the fatigue of your muscles, the tiredness from the adrenaline, and exhaustion from your sobs, and fell onto your back, covering your eyes with a forearm with the other limply laying on the ground next to you. Bilbo kneeled next to you and laid his small hand over yours, watching as the king was pulled to his feet and grimacing at the noises of his jovial party celebrating with shouting and laughing.

“You did it,” The burglar said quietly, just enough for you to hear. It wasn’t just amazement in his voice, but reassurance. Something to ground you, like the warm squeeze of his hand.

You trembled, breaths coming in and out with a shiver.

Thorin’s dazed when you slowly sit up off the ground to look at him, swaying about and being jostled as each excited dwarf embraced and jumped around him, and an arm shouldered over Kìli’s to keep his balance.

“You were dead.” Dwalin’s normally stony, hard-set face, was graced with the most horrified look you’d ever seen in your life, eyes widened and brows twisted upwards in awe. That seemed to settle everyone down enough, and shake Thorin from the rest of his stupor. Once again, the world around you was blessed with silence that you hadn’t gotten a taste of since you arrived. It was short lived.

“Dead?” Thorin asked, incredulous and confused.

“Ye’ weren’t breathing lad!” Gloin chimed in, “we thought you were gone!”

The king’s eyes narrow, and shift between the members of his party, blinking away a head rush.

“How is that possible?” The second set of words he’d spoken since he screamed Azog’s name. Thorin’s voice was low and rasping. He slowly turned, following the astounded, wide-eyed stares from the surrounding dwarves, boring into you like you were some God.

You sniffled, wiping at your reddened, runny nose with the sleeve of your shirt.

He lifted a jeweled hand to graze over his heart, where you were reviving him, just staring at the sad sight of your tearful eyes.

“She saved ya’, Thorin,” Balin’s voice is serious and somber, breaking the silence, “Brough’ ya’ back from near death. Mahal knows how.”

Thorin’s eyes grew sharp, brows furrowing and piercing into you, where you pulled yourself to sit on your knees. His fingers tightened around the cloth where his hand laid, clutching at his chest.

“You,” he gruffed, “You did this?”

“I-I… I didn’t know if it was gonna work.” Your throat tightened and squeezed. Great, even more tears flowed down your face. Thorin’s eyes held the same glint that made your stomach twist with embarrassment and shame. The least he could do is offer a nod of gratitude towards you. Instead, he tore free from the group, ripping his arm away off his nephew’s shoulder and stumbling towards you like a drunken fool, with thudding footsteps.

Dwalin calls after him uselessly, just hanging back and letting the scene play out.

When he stops in front of you, eyes firey and broad chest heaving breaths in and out, standing a few inches over where you’re knelt, all you can do is try not to look away. You’re glad you hadn’t.

A boa-tight grip took hold of your heart and tightened when you saw his features soften, worry lines and crow's feet disappearing in the appearance of a small, incredulous smile. His softened eyes lined themselves with the hint of tears catching like jewels in the morning sun. Thorin dropped down to his knees to meet your height in a hug that you could never have prepared yourself for. You freeze for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Thorin, fearless, merciless, King Under the Mountain was hugging, no, embracing you, with the force of a thousand winds and strength of ten thousand men, because he was alive, thanks to you. And you hugged him back, pulling closer than you already were, and grasping at the back of his shirt and cried into his shoulder. The dwarves cheered in excitement behind Thorin. Through the yelling and praise, you can hear Thorin’s low voice next to your ear.

“I cannot repay this deed. Thank you.”

You pull away to see the kindest, warmest smile your eyes had ever been blessed to lay upon. It knocked the breath from your lungs. The corners of his eyes and the arch of his nose wrinkled upwards. It suited his face much more than the cold and stoic stares he was prone to.

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna make it.” Was all you could huff out.

“Yet I did. I misunderstood you greatly.” Thorin wiped a tear from the side of your face, “You make a member of this group. My life is indebted to you. And you,”

He peered over your shoulder at a wide-eyed Bilbo Baggins, standing just past your shoulder. You helped him stand from the ground, arm linked in his to meet the hobbit.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” he slipped free from your arm, and started toward Bilbo, just as he did you. “Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?”

Your face fell, akin to Bilbo’s solemn look. He stood there, taking the string of insults like a punching bag.

“That you had no place amongst us?”

And then he pulled the hobbit in just as he did you.

“I have never been so wrong, in all my life.”

Your heart reeled, and this time you smiled along with the rest of the company’s rejoices, watching the surprised grin spread across Bilbo’s face. Thorin pulled away.

“I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, no. I would have doubted me, too.”

A hand planted itself on your shoulder, and you turned to look at Gandalf and his sagely smile.

“You’ve made yourself quite the home in these dwarves' hearts, young lady,” he said. It was comedic, the way his silvery hair and beard dramatically blew in the wind, “Perhaps once this has settled, you stay with them. I think you’d find yourself more than welcome in Erebor’s Halls.”

You hummed in thought. The band of travelers were gathered on the edge of the plateau, looking out in the distance towards the peak of the Lonely Mountain, calling their name through the mist.

Thorin turned back to look at you over his shoulder with a gentle smile, and nodded his head to you in a silent thanks. The ghost of a blush spread across his face.

“I just might.”

(aaaaaah! what did you guys think??? :3 it feels wonderful to get a full fic out after so long, ive had this idea in my head for dayyys ugh 💔 please send me some requests loves, i'm in desperate need of some comfort fics! don't forget to reblog and like!! love yas! 🩷🌺🌸🌷💝💞)

tag list : @kumqu4t @tolkien-fantasy @blueberryrock @to-be-frank-i-dont-care @luna-xial @legolaslovely @fizzyxcustard @pistachiozombie @imaginexhobbit @beenovel

#thorin oakenshield #xreader #thorin oakenshield x reader #peter jackson #thorins company #the hobbit #thorin x reader #the hobbit x reader #angst #happy ending #yayyy #i need thorin #tolkien #modern! reader

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rememberwren · 4 months

Text

A Dichotomy of Thought || 4

CW: medical drama; food control; sexual assault

The first seizure comes out of the blue.

“Did you leave the gas on?”

“Of course not.”

Johnny sniffs the air. “C’n smell it.”

Simon sighs a little. Against his better judgment, he leans back in his chair at the table, stretching away from the Jenga tower so that he can see around the kitchen island and confirm what he already knew: all four of the stove’s gas burners are in the off position.

Johnny has been using everything in his power to try to distract Simon from this game meant to help him attune his fine motor skills. Twice he’s gone to take a piss in ten minutes. Already once he’s knocked down the tower on purpose by bouncing his foot beneath the table. Simon wouldn’t be surprised if he were hoping the apartment would burn to the ground—anything to keep him from having to reach out with his left hand and work a tile free from the tower.

“Gas is off,” Simon says.

When he looks back, Johnny is gone. He’s right there, seated stiffly in his chair, but his stare is a thousand miles away, his mouth parted like he has lost his thought in the middle of a sentence. Then the sounds start: wet smacks of his mouth as he licks his lips again and again.

“Johnny.”

No response.

Simon knocks his chair clean over standing up out of it. He takes Johnny by the shoulders and feels the stiffness in his muscles, the unwillingness to move. He doesn’t quite know what it is, not yet, but the possibilities whirl in his head like a cyclone: seizure maybe, or a stroke, or a burst aneurysm. Maybe Johnny’s brain is bleeding again, the pressure building inside his skull. Maybe this time, he’ll die.

Not on Simon’s fucking watch.

Johnny is already coming-to by the time the paramedics arrive. He is confused, convinced that he is missing school and his mother will take him o’er her knee. Simon stands there like the most useless lump in the world while the medics flash lights in Johnny’s eyes and take his blood pressure and listen to his heart.

“Sounds like a seizure,” one of the medics tells him. “But the hospitalists will be able to tell you more.”

“He’s not going to be happy about that.”

“Who ever is?”

They have to fight him to get him on one of the stretchers to take him to the ambulance, and Simon feels liable to shatter watching them strap him down just like they did so often in the hospital when he first woke up, when he couldn’t even remember his own name or where his arm had gone. When all he knew was pain and his own fury.

Do something, you useless idiot, his mind whispers. He pushes through the paramedics (who are used to being bullied around by patients and family, but perhaps are not used to being bullied around by someone who looks like Simon, so they part like water for Moses) and takes Johnny’s hand, pulls it to his mouth and swears he tastes blood. Johnny’s wild, confused eyes find him.

“Johnny. Calm down. Let ‘em do their jobs, yeah?”

“Who are you?” Johnny bellows, trying to wrench his hand free. He nearly topples the stretcher, unaware of his own strength. He will ache something fierce in the morning. “Get out of my house! Ma! Ma-a!”

The hallway appears empty, but Simon can feel the eyes on him: eyes from behind peepholes and brave souls who crack their doors open, eager to see the latest in apartment building drama. Turning Johnny and his pain into a fucking spectacle.

He sees you, then, your eye ringed in healing, yellowing bruises, looking out through a crack in your door. When you see him, the door opens a little more, revealing your slack, horrified face. Your mouth moves, forming Johnny’s name.

But Simon has no time for you. He turns and follows the paramedics and the sound of Johnny’s screams.

They sedate Johnny which turns him into a drooling mess for four hours. Simon isn’t sure if it’s preferable to the screaming; but it’s probably less painful for Johnny, which is all that matters. They scan his brain and load him full of Keppra to keep him from suffering from secondary generalization. Simon doesn’t understand the medical terms precisely—knows more about broken bones and cuts and trauma from the field, trauma that kills a man, not the kind that a man has to live with—but he comes to understand that they believe this was a minor seizure, and that Johnny might be headed for bigger, deeper waters.

The pressure on his brain has been steadily lessening. The doctors say that epilepsy induced by a traumatic brain injury is rare, but Johnny’s specific injuries—bruising and blood on the brain, so much compression—are like a perfect storm to maximize his odds. He’ll be on anti-seizure medicine for the rest of his life, and if they are lucky, he’ll never have to suffer a Big one.

“Where have you been?” Johnny asks him, throat raw, when he finally begins to come out of the fog of his medicine. Simon chose to sit on the side of the bed where he can hold Johnny’s hand, even if it means the nurses and doctors are walking around his hulking figure every time they need to get his vital signs.

“Been here all this time,” Simon says.

“Did I win?”

“Did you win what?”

“Jenga.”

Simon laughs. It sounds wet. “Keep dreaming.”

You lace your fingers together to keep them from shaking, resting them tidily in your lap like you are about to dip your head in prayer. Across from you, your boyfriend—fiance, he calls himself, though there is no ring, nor had he ever been down on one knee—sits eating the meal you carefully crafted for him: you’re becoming a very good cook. Necessity begs adaptation.

“I want my phone back,” you say as calmly as you can.

He hums, his own phone flat on the table beside his plate as he scrolls while he eats. “Well. I don’t know. Did you learn your lesson?”

“What lesson was that?”

He stops scrolling, eyes flickering upward. He stops chewing even. A slow smile spreads across his face. It is a handsome one—the face and the smile. Once, that smile gave you butterflies. Now it spawns great moths inside you, eating away at your belly like an old woman’s age-worn clothes.

There’s nothing that makes him happier than a good struggle (hadn’t he just whispered that in your ear last night, your body pressed into the bed while he took you, his words searching for the crack in your armor that they would find sooner or later, inevitable as the rise of the sun. He had kissed your neck and whispered into your ear that he missed the days when you fought back), and he senses one coming like a shark senses blood in the water.

He’s not as smart as he thinks he is, if he doesn’t see you fighting back when you’re lying still.

“You don’t remember?” he wonders.

You say nothing.

With two fingers, he slides his plate across the table to you and laughs. “You look so scared! It’s not a trick question. I don’t remember either. Are you hungry? Eat.”

You pick up the fork, even though this is a game you’ve played often enough. You are hungry. There is a little lock on the refrigerator that you haven’t managed to pick. Not yet. The last meal you had was a greasy grilled cheese eaten standing up in the break room at work between shifts two days ago, and it had come out of your paycheck.

He stands and leaves the room and comes back with your phone, setting it on the table between you both.

“Let’s negotiate,” he says.

When Simon and Johnny return two days later from the hospital, they nearly step on the piece of paper slid beneath the door, the one that reads: GOT A PHONE. TEXT ME—7C

#ghoap x reader

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erwinsmithsmissingleftarm · 9 months

Note

the nsfw alphabet for reiner pls !!! i love how u write <3333

CW: Post-war!Reiner

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Reiner is very gentle after sex. Undestand him, he just let you see the most vulnerable side of himself and can't believe how good you made him feel. This guy just wants to thank you for everything! He is the type to immediately bring you a glass of water and hug you, asking if you are okay or if he hurt you by any accident. Probably needs you to tell him at least twice that you are really fine and that you are more than satisfied to finally stop worrying and asking questions.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

If you ask Reiner which body part he likes from his body, he will probably mention his eyes. Nothing really fascinating, they looks boring to him but after you kept complimenting them, he really started to think they are pretty. I mean, how can't someone fall for those honey eyes, looking so fucking gorgeous in the setting sun?

As for you, he will never say it out loud but he loves your boobs. They are just... so soft and firm at the same time, it does not make sense to him! The perfect pillow to sleep on and cute anti-stress balls. He is not too touchy either, just slightly groping on them in private when you are okay with it. Small, medium or big, he loves the feeling of them in his big hands and the blush on your face whenever he tells you how cute and pretty they are.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Reiner is the biggest cum eater in the world. Man can lick your dripping pussy for hours without being tired. Every time he flips his tongue in your slit, he makes you even wetter until you literally beg him to stop. He then lifts his head and looks at you with glazed eyes and his puffy lips covered in cum until he runs his tongue over them to not waste any drops. He does not know why but your sweet nectar has a such addictive taste that he can't get enough of it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It might not be surprising but Reiner fantasizes about you dominating him. Who knew that this big man could actually think about being the submissive one, letting you take control over him. He is so... tired to be the one always taking decisions. Reiner just wants to be at your mercy because he knows you will take good care of him.

He needs you to push his hands away as he tries to touch you, gosh he can't stop thinking about it but everytime he is about to ask you about it, the words stay stuck in his throat. He can't say it, no matter how much he wants, he is just a tiny scared that you might judge him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before you, Reiner did not have anybody and honestly did not have a lot of time to think and care about sex. Yes, his sex life before you was non-existential. Your first time was actually a bit embarrassing as both of you were virgins and did not really know what to do. It was a bit messy at the beginning but after a few minutes, Reiner caught the pace.

But now I think it's a bit useless to tell that he became pretty skilled with all the times you two did the deed. He is still unsure of himself sometimes but it is very rare now as he feels like he can be himself with you without being judged. If anything embarrassing happens, you two just laugh about it and continue this intimate and passionnate moment, not focusing on that.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

As a person who is constantly searching for approval from his partner, Reiner finds it very important to maintain eye contact while having sex. He needs to be sure that he is doing everything okay and seeing your face can be very helpful. He needs to see any little change in your facial expression that could potentially show some discomfort/pain or at the opposite, pleasure. Positions like the missionnary or the lotus are his favorite for that.

It's very rare for him to try new positions that are not the two mentionned the line before but the doggy can be also great when he feels a little more dominant, giving him the access to reach that sweet spot inside you. Another nice position would be the spooning one. Reiner just loves how his whole body is pressed against your back while he is gently thrusting into your tight pussy.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Reiner is not goofy during sex at all. For him making love is the pinnacle of seriousness and not something that should be joked about. This moment should be used to share and show your intimacy, your love and affection and he does not want to ruin it by making jokes that will only cringe both of you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Normal level of hair. Reiner is not the type of guy who take time everyday to make sure he is freshly groomed so he shaves it about once a week? Not too shaved but not messy either, just the perfect mix. The puebes are darked than his blond hair, a somewhat brown/caramel color.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is probably one of the most romatic guys ever during sex. I mean, my boy is putting all his efforts in to make you feel good and loved. He's taking his time to pamper your body with hundreds of kisses and whisper how much he loves you into your ear. Let's also remember that he is extra-sensitive, literally baby boy, so he really takes his time to please you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Whenever he has a boner but you are not there, he will ask you to send him a pic of you. Not necessarily a spicy one where you are in a lewd position or showing your tits to him. Nope, just a pic of you today, his imagination can do the rest to imagine himself undressing you, removing that cute crop top or unbuttoning that shirt.

He will usually imagine that his hand is your hand and that you are the one giving him that handjob. His strong thighs twitches as he feels his climax approaching, hearing your soft voice whispering praises at his ear. He finally let out a loud gasp as his hips thrust forward, his cum covering his hand, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink. Listen, the worst thing you could ever do to Reiner is degrade him. That sweet boy's life was filled with remorse and self-doubt and only God knows how he is still alive today. He cannot stop thinking about all the bad things he did and it drives him sick. Reiner needs to be comforted, to be called good and to be praised. He loves it when you whisper sweet things to his ear or when you, on the contrary, yell them as he makes you feel so good.

Size kink. This man is HUGE and it always turns him on how you are so small and cute compared to him. He love when your hand is gripping his while he's literally stretching your tight hole out. Bonus points if you wear one of his shirt, it's a huge turn-on and he will just fuck you in it without any doubts.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

I feel like Reiner is quite the traditionnal guy who thinks that there is no better place to have sex than in the bed. It's a private place where you two can't be seen or interrupted by anybody, it's comfy and easy to clean up after (just throw the dirty bed sheets in the laundry and ta-da).

Honestly, I think Reiner can fuck you everywhere as long as it's in a private place with nobody else. If the sexual tension is too much and you can't even reach the bed without fucking each other, the couch, the kitchen counter, any table, the shower... any place at home is a good place to fuck you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

One of his biggest turn on is probably when you wear his clothes. It comes with his size kink. Not gonna lie, Reiner finds it fucking sexy when you wear his clothes, like his shirt that is way too big for you. It is just adorable how the piece of clothing is hanging on your body, making you look even smaller than you are. Be prepared to be fucked until you pass out if you dare to wear his clothes (of course, he will fuck you while you have his shirt on).

Another turn on for Reiner would be dirty messaging. You don't have to spend any pics, just dirty textos can make him feel tight in his trousers. This man is pretty easy to turn on, you just have to tell him everything you want him to do with you and he is already hard. If you text him while he is not at home, he will come home earlier than planned. He is already expecting you to be half-naked on the bed and might teach you a lesson about turning him on in public.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't see Reiner has someone who would feel pleasure with pain honestly. He thinks that all this BDSM stuff is a bit disgusting and weird. What the point of hurting someone you care so deeply about even if it is just for sex? This does not make sense to him. He is pretty vanilla sex as you can see and will refuse anything that could be painful (either for you and himself).

Another turn off would be anything that implies another person than you two (threesome, public sex, ect). Due to his protective personality, he wants to keep you all to himself, no sharing allowed.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

If it was not clear with the letter C, let me say it again. Reiner loves eating you out. Of course, nobody is born pro at giving oral but Reiner is kinda good at it even at his first time? Not that he is so skilled but even with that first messy cunni he was able to make you cum after a short amount of time. Those skills only improve with time and soon he becomes a real professional.

He also does not care if you think you are too heavy, just sit on his fucking face and let him lick your pussy dammit! You are a thick girl? Squish his face with your thighs please. Skinny girl? Squish his face too. No matter your body type, your height and your weight, this man handle you like nobody else and loves you more than anything else in the world.

Reiner also likes being the receiver but do not push you to do it. You are too scared? That's okay, there is so much more to do in bed! You are messy and unexperienced? Wonderful, there is no better way to gain experience than with practice! You are fucking skilled and can take all his dick one-shot? Keep it like this, he won't complain!

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He is both. Often, Reiner will start thrusting into you slowly and sensually, just to make sure you have time to adapt yourself to his cock. Then, his thrusts will slightly increase in pace and roughness to finally transform into intense pounding that will make you scream and rearrange your guts.

Also, Reiner is not the type to change pace depending of his mood. That means that even if he had a bad day, he is angry or tired, he will still fuck you as usual and not more agressively. He does not want his emotions to take control over him and take the risk to hurt you by accident.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

It might be surprising but Reiner does not like quickies. The reason behind this is pretty simple, he is easily stressed and dislikes to be quick on a such thing as making love. He likes to take his time, feeling his climax approaching slowly, no stress about being late for something...

He wants to take it "relax" if we can say it like that. Quickies with him are very rare, mostly done when you two have unexpected changes in your plannings right before making love.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Reiner is not really the risky type, he likes to stay in his comfort zone and may be grumpy at the idea of trying something new. So if you want to try out new things, you will have to push this man to take some risks but he will say thank you after.

Okay something silly like cockwarming. When you first proposed it to him, he made the sour face that always make you laugh. He did not understood the point of having his cock buried inside your guts without the right to move. How could he resists from pounding inside that warm pussy of yours? Okay it took you a few days to convince him to try it just one time but the result was worth it. Just hearing the soft sigh that escape his lips as he feel that warmth around his shaft, you pussy squeezing him slightly, making it even tighter than usual. He fell in love with it, now always asking you to cockwarm him while he's working from home or watching a movie with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Thanks to his high sex drive (which will be more explained in the letter Y...) and his good physical form, Reiner has a lot and a lot of stamina. This stamina the the one that allow him to last for at least 15 minutes per rounds.

This guy can be pretty whiny if his partner only wants to go for one round as he prefers to go for minimum 2 rounds and more. After complaining a bit, he accepts his fate if his lover did not change their opinion but be ready to an extremely long sex session to compensate for the only one round thingy.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

As said in the letter N, Reiner is turned off by almost everything that is not vanilla sex. That means that the possibility of him owning toys is very very small. If it was just for him, the answer would be a total no.

But, he actually also cares about his partner's needs and requests so if you want to try out some toys one night, he will accept. Reiner is only doing it for you and by consequence, only uses the toys on you. However, he still does not get it how some plastic can bring as much pleasure as a real meaty cock.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

One thing, Reiner is not a tease at all. This man is already way too needy for sex to lose time on teasing. Forget about things any other guys would do like hands avoiding your dripping wet cunt or his tip teasing your entrance. No, Reiner is giving you everything you want as soon as you give him the green light. You just have to ask him and he will do it.

But what if YOU decide to tease him? Oh my god, this big guy will turn into a whiny mess, begs literally flowing out of his mouth like a waterfall. Why are you so mean to him? Why do you tease that poor baby? At some point, he will almost grab your hand and bring it to his twitching and neglected dick. "Don't you feel how I need you? Stop teasing me please, I can't take it anymore..."

Let's just say that you are still wondering how you keep losing against those soft honey eyes...

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

A loud boy here! Well, let me re-phrase it. At first, he is very shy and tries to mute any sounds that could come out from his mouth. However, he quickly gains in confidence and after a few minutes he does not hesitate to let you know how much he loves it by being very vocal. Mostly growling and soft whimpering, he is not into very girlish sounds and stays more manly. Sometimes, he can let out whines and sobs if you decide to tease him.

Reiner also like to have a noisy partner. Actually... who does not want to have a noisy partner in bed? The sounds you make is the easiest way for him to know if you like that he is doing or if you are close to your climax. Don't hold back or he will slip his fingers into your warm mouth and force you to keep it open while thrusting into you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

This man is a true cuddle bug. He can stay for hours in your arms, feeling your fingers scratching his scalp. He is craving for affection, even more physical. Pamper his face with kisses, hug his bigger frame by behind, hold his hands while you are taking a walk... he just needs it. He likes the feeling of your head on his chest when you are peacefully sleeping, nuzzling against his body. Yes, he is needy just like a little kid but it's adorable and we love him like that.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Would you be really surprised if I told you Reiner has a big dick? The answer is probably no because we all know that under those pants is hidden a whole monster. Reiner is quite shy about it because he finds it gross but honestly it is a whole feast.

You want more description? Here you go: it's above average, about 7 inches long and 2 and half inches thick, no piercings with a slight curve that allows him to hit the deepest parts of your body, no cut with a nice dark pink color.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

To be honest, it surprising at first how high is Reiner sex drive. Who could know that this quiet warrior would be a sex addicted? Not that he can't spend one day without it. No, he can restrain himself of course like any normal man. He will never assume it and even more say it out loud but yes, he likes the feeling of his dick inside you a little bit too much.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Usually, due to his trauma, Reiner has insomnia and barely sleep 3 hours per night plus nightmares often happen to him so our baby doesn't get a lot of rest. But after sex, he's surprisingly falling asleep only a few minutes later. The rush of emotions you two just lived and the feeling of your skin pressed against his seems to calm him down. It won't take long for you to hear his soft snores as he's already sleeping tight.

#reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x reader smut #reiner x reader #reiner x reader smut #reiner braun #reiner braun smut #reiner smut #aot #attack on titan #reiner aot #reiner headcanons #aot headcanons smut #aot headcanons #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot x reader

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melodic-haze · 5 months

Text

Who knows what the logistics of it would be but like. Reader who's kinda sorta Akivili's reincarnation of sorts and is just kinda clueless ab it but everyone else can kinda feel it

Imagine you, who has never felt satisfied with just staying in one place and one day the Express just pulls up and you feel especially drawn to it, though you don't know why. You try to rationalise it by saying that it's bc it's your biggest chance in seeing the galaxy!! And that's the most reasonable conclusion, surely!!!!!

But for some reason that doesn't quite feel right.

You stumble upon the Nameless and you greet them with a smile, and they can't help but stop in their tracks for a brief moment. Especially Himeko, whose eyes widen the slightest bit at the weirdly familiar energy you give off, and an interest in you grows within her—it's of a curious nature at first, though she finds herself wanting to be around you despite having only met recently. Even curiouser, when Pom-Pom sees you, stops with a weirdly glossy sheen to his eyes, and tells her that you "feel" like the Express itself.

Before you even ask if you could join them in their journey, it's THEM that asks you first. And really, why would you say no when that's all you've ever wanted?

You go with them in their travels, and for some reason you feel as if this is familiar to you. Why? Welt looks at you with a raised brow, though he doesn't say a word.. but he does ask if you'd be interested in tackling navigation with Pom-Pom. You agree, and it's the most natural thing you've ever done, as if attuned to the train itself.

You go from world to world, solve predicament after predicament with Stelle and the others, and you meet new people along the way and they can't help but be drawn to you. Is it bc of how easy it is to get along with you? Or is it how versatile you can be in every interaction and situation?

The stellaron in Belobog, for some reason, had whispered to be EXTRA careful of you to Cocolia due to an unknown fear of the things you can do, and her obsession to "protect" the world in her own way splits into an morbid curiosity of you. The Nameless, she gets, but why you specifically? And when she falls, it is then when she realises that ah, she is dealing with something far out of her reach.

Ruan Mei, the woman with an obsession to reach the power of a god—an Aeon—for her own conclusions, sees you for the first time and feels some sort of envy for you but neither of you know why.....so she runs tests, ones that she doesn't speak of to you for a mix of her own ensured safety, the lack of influence in results and HER lack of skill in communication.

You may go with it if you want, but when you tell her to stop she's.. strangely compelled to do so. Why is that? She investigates it herself personally by forming a connection with you through simply hanging out (and she even joins you in your expeditions at times), but that investigation melts away as she finds herself more interested in you rather than what you could be. Or does it? Who can tell with her.

And as you continue on with your journey on the Astral Express, you've drawn the attention of the infamous Stellaron Hunters. Kafka, especially, seems particularly interested in you. After all, what role do you have in the script and why, oh why, is Elio so unusually evasive when it comes to you? She makes it known—both your strange presence and her interest—and she keeps popping up left and right to speak to you without the pretense of combat in the forefront of her mind. As utterly useless and possibly unbeneficial to the script as it is, she finds herself wanting to witness your travels, wants to bask in that joy that only you could ever experience as you blaze a trail.

And through all of these encounters, you can't help but think of one thing:

Have you done this before?

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 6 months

Text

Those Summer Nights, When I Look in Your Eyes

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (No France) Warnings: Sexual Situations; Vague Smut

Summary: Daryl's childhood had lacked so much and at the beginning of the turn, he had never known love beyond Merle's version of it. Now, he had it all and he would never let them wonder how much he cherished them.

A/N: For @louifaith, I hope this is close to what you imagined for our archer. 🩵 - Also, I have Daryl calling reader "pip" because someone suggested him nicknaming her "pipsqueak" in another story and it has just stuck with me. I was as vague as possible about reader’s age but let me be clear - she is above 18. I don’t write for huge age gaps. I don’t judge those that do and I do read them. I just do not write them but I have no control over where your mind takes you. Anyway, the song he hums is attached. ;)

Life was good.

For thirteen years, there had never been a point in time where Daryl had felt like he could say that and genuinely believe it. For an entire year, the Commonwealth had thrived. Not a single threat. The walls held. The governing unit was fair and compassionate. It really was like the old world.

But not for Daryl.

In the old world, he had been a drifter. A useless drifter walking in the shadow of his brother. No job, no friends, no purpose. And he had, at that time, liked it that way.

Not anymore.

Because now he had a job. He had friends. He had a family. He had a purpose. And he had everything he had lacked growing up. He had love, and not just Merle’s variation of it.

Carol had taken over Lance’s position when Ezekiel and Mercer had stepped up to govern. She had pulled Daryl aside and asked him if he wanted to stay in their reformed force, giving him the choice. His decision was to promptly decline. So they put their heads together to come up with something.

Daryl possessed many skills, most of them learned by doing throughout the years. He had one condition that he would not negotiate on, however.

Daryl’s time outside the walls was over.

He agreed to train hunters to take his place and conceded to three weeks on the road with volunteers that he left up to Carol’s choosing. There was more than enough trust between them for him to be comfortable with who she would deem worthy to provide for the community.

Then he was given the job of overseeing construction and structural upkeep, equipment maintenance, and of course, a seat in the governmental advisory council. He was nothing if not adaptable and took to his position quickly, finding that he liked it. He was respected and his suggestions for the good of the community were heard and considered.

If he chose to hunt or ride, it would be for leisure but he’d hardly needed it in the past year. Domestic life had tamed the inner need to hide or escape that had been ingrained throughout the years even before the turn.

Years ago, you had tumbled into his life. A hot mess that he had spent many a day battling the urge to absolutely throttle. You had a stubborn streak a mile wide that made his own nothing more than a small trail. He absolutely couldn’t stand you.

Funny thing, time.

Now you wore his ring and proudly carried his last name. You had wanted the ceremony, even if his proposal was lackluster. He had been seeking you out after the end of the Whisperers.

“Where’s Y/N?” At first no one answered. He barely parted his lips, intent on asking again with a little more well placed ardor when a woman he recognized as a former Hilltop resident spoke up. “I saw your wife! She’s over with the children!” He muttered his thanks and took a single step before you were finding him. “Daryl!” Your body collided with his, knocking the air from his lungs. His heartbeat lowered regardless, feeling you there in his arms, alive and breathing and whole. “I couldn’t see you in the herd. I was about to come find you but Jude, she made me promise to stay.” “M’here. An’ they’re gone” He tightened his arms around you and rested his cheek on the crown of your head. “So I’m your wife now, huh?” He felt the shift of your facial muscles against his chest, knew you were smiling. “What of it?” He grunted. “Ya wanna be?” He felt his heart skip a few beats when you lifted your head to smile at him, beaming and beautiful. “Of course, I do. Might as well be at this point. We sound like an old married couple.” Daryl snorted and then shrugged. “Then I guess we are.” “That simple?” “That simple.” When you grinned, he knew you would never let it be that simple.

You got your wedding, simple and intimate, with only the few remaining people that were closest to the two of you. When Gabriel said the words, you got your ring, too. Oh, the hell and herds Daryl had gone through to get them. Matching bands, camelot black titanium. Crafted to withstand the way the world was.

He was twisting the ring round and round as he walked home, tired from a full day’s work and more than ready for the weekend with his family: you, Jude, RJ, and his little River. His boy was nearly two years old, the spitting image of Daryl with a heaping dose of your attitude.

You were younger than Daryl, still at an age where pregnancy and giving birth was not considered risky beyond the state the world was in and the lack of some resources. It was horrifying yet the best news he’d ever heard in his self-proclaimed useless life.

River Merle came along right in the midst of the unease in the Commonwealth. When they had taken you and River along with Jude and RJ, it had required all the power Carol possessed to stop Daryl from losing his goddamn mind. He was prepared to rip out entrails with his bare hands and use them to strangle each and every trooper that stood between him and his wife and kids. It was not a good time to support Pamela.

It all worked out in the end when, bruised but alive, the people took back the Commonwealth.

And now, here he was. A husband. A father. A boss. A survivor.

Life. Was. Good.

“Ya home, Pip?” The words habitually rolled off his tongue the moment he opened the door and stepped inside. Jude and RJ were watching a movie, the elder looking over with a hey, Uncle Daryl before turning right back to the television. It was the weekend. No reason to bug them about homework.

“Where else would we be?” You called from the kitchen. Daryl unlaced his boots, was in the middle of pulling off the second one when you came out with River on your hip. “Someone’s cranky today.”

“I ain’t cranky.”

“I’m not talking about you but assuming I was says a lot.” You smiled softly, passing off the baby while simultaneously stealing a kiss. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He nearly melted, probably would have if you weren’t situating a small human right against his chest.

“Get a room.” Judith was rolling her eyes when Daryl shot her a harmless look.

River’s little arms went straight around his father’s neck, his little hiccups and sniffles muffled against Dary’s shirt. “S’wrong, lil’ man. Mama houndin’ ya over veggies like she does me an’ RJ?” River pulled back, rubbing his left eye with a chubby fist, looking at Daryl with a scowl that he knew very well adorned his own face more often than not. Even being so content with his life, he couldn’t seem to rid himself of what you called his resting bitch face.

“Daddy.” Was all the boy said before burying his face back into Daryl’s shirt.

“He had a nap?” Daryl was jostling his son as little as possible while ridding himself of his precious vest, tossing it over the back of ‘his’ chair at the dining table. His large hand covered a wide expanse of the small boy’s back when he rubbed soothing little circles, following you into the kitchen. You shook your head and took the lid off the pot on the stove. The scent of meat and herbs wafted toward Daryl and his mouth watered, but first thing was first.

“He wouldn’t go down. I think it’s a daddy day.” You smiled at the sauce but it wasn’t meant for the pasta topping at all. Daddy days were Daryl’s favorite. River wanted absolutely no one but him. The baby would fuss during meals, refuse to nap, and absolutely forget about bath and bedtime unless Daryl was there.

“I got ‘im then. See if I can get ‘im down for a bit.” Daryl was ducking and angling his head to catch River’s attention, finally earning a shy smile when blue met blue and the archer scrunched his nose and stuck out his tongue. Pressing a kiss into the mess of wavy hair, he noticed you standing with your back against the countertop, a certain type of smile on your face.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just sexy.”

“Pfft, stop.”

“We are so playing chess tonight.”

Daryl arched a brow. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your smile morphing into something else entirely; something sinful. “Oh, yeah.”

Dinner done, older kids in their rooms after teeth brushing and goodnight hugs, Daryl sat in the nursery with a sleepy River resting his head on his father’s shoulder while the chair gently rocked. The baby’s hair was only the least bit damp but he smelled of the lavender lotion that you always seemed to have near the changing table, instructing Daryl to use it after baths and before bed because it was calming.

Bathed and in a fresh diaper and pajamas, mini-Daryl was beginning to drift off while his father simply rubbed his back or kissed his cheek or even held a little hand just to count the fingers over and over. Soon enough there would be potty training and pre-school—Carol had said that was still a thing in the world now and yes, they had one in the Commonwealth—so for now, Daryl just wanted to soak it all up, take it all in.

River would likely be the only baby the two of you would have, so not a single second was being wasted or taken for granted. You kept a daily journal of simple things that some might find trivial but Daryl knew he’d be reading that journal often enough to wear the ink right off the pages. Sometimes, he missed things because of work, but in the end, that’s what happened when you were a parent, he supposed. His old man didn’t care about milestones or daddy days, and his mama wasn’t around for bath time or boo-boo kisses. River would have it all. And as long as they were his to care for, so would Judith and RJ. In fact, since the baby had Daryl, you were currently reading a story to Rick and Michonne’s son before bed.

Man, if Rick could see Daryl now. Would his brother even recognize him? God, would his brother even recognize him? He let his mind drift for a moment to Rick and Merle, just long enough to keep them close and then he was back to River, pressing a kiss to a chubby cheek.

You would always rock and sing to the little one but he didn’t need that from Daryl. There was just something about their bond that didn’t require words and hardly even movement. It had been that way since the moment you had pushed him into the world. He had cried, red-faced and angry and cold while Tomi leaned to put him onto your chest. You had your time with him, cuddling and nursing, his little sounds still expressing his discontentment with the change from your warm womb to a loud, bright world.

They had Daryl take off his shirt, which he didn’t understand until you explained better than any doctor or nurse could. The moment River was pressed against his skin, the connection was apparent to anyone who saw. The baby went silent, wide eyes mirroring the ones Daryl himself had. He had felt guilty for the longest time that River wanted you to feed him and then he wanted his daddy back immediately. He still had his mommy days and you said that was enough.

You were always supportive, never angry or jealous. You’d share the moments with him while he enjoyed them with you.

It was all what he’d never had, so he’d make sure River, Judith, and RJ never went without it.

His eyes were slow to open, squinting at the traitorous window that dared let the morning rays creep across the bed and to his pillow. It took a few sluggish blinks to remember what day it was and that he was free to go back to sleep until River required either you or him. With a deep breath, he stretched his arms above his head and looked at you, still wrapped around him with your head on his chest. Naked. Still so very, very naked.

He was barely in the bedroom door before you were pushing him against it, almost catching his fingers when he attempted to mute the sound of it closing at his back. You had his shirt unbuttoned and your mouth on his before he could even take a breath. “I told you,” you panted against his lips, “we’re playing chess tonight.” Daryl grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you easily, spinning you to press you against the door. “Goddamn right, we are.” The first round was a frenzied bout of moaning and skin slapping skin, hands covering mouths to keep the noise down. Your nails had left gouges on Daryl’s ass and back, clawing at him for more. You weren’t unscathed. A bruise was blooming on the curve of your right breast, a perfect black and purple bite he had inflicted at some point. It ended with you lying across Daryl’s torso while he was flat on his back with the pillow halfway over his face. Panting and sweating while the sheet covered neither of you where it mattered. Why it was anywhere near either of you was anyone’s guess. The second time was slower, every second savored. Your fingertips memorizing his face while his hips rolled into you, back arching to push himself deeper. His lips were on your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks and mouth. His fingers danced down your ribcage and back up to your breasts, gentle caresses while he pressed his lips over the mark he’d left earlier. You didn’t have to try hard to roll him over. He went willingly, his hands going straight for your hips. You let your fingers roam his chest and stomach. His scars were yours to explore, he’d given that power over to you long ago. The marks no longer held him prisoner after you’d shown him how to be free. You were incredibly attracted to the way his body had softened with age and he worshiped each wrinkle and stretch mark that time and pregnancy had gifted you. You loved each other wholly, without condition.

And you laid where you had collapsed, goosebumps on your skin from the cool morning air. Daryl didn’t want to go back to sleep, so he laid there, watching you and just enjoying the silence with the knowledge that his family was safe. That you had survived together and built something so precious.

When River began to fuss, it was Daryl that slipped out of bed and left you to rest a bit longer. He had no qualms with being the one to get up earlier to take care of the baby.

The weekend went by fast, as it often did. Sunday night, he found himself sitting on the couch after the kids were all asleep. He had helped clean up after dinner and was contently watching you pick up toys and fold laundry. He didn’t step in to help because he had no intention of allowing you to continue for long.

“What?” You finally inquired, obviously catching him staring.

“Nothin’.” He smirked, huffing a laugh that came out as an exhale through his nose. You were still regarding him when he stood and beckoned you with a finger. “C’mere.” Your pretty eyes narrowed but you placed the unfolded towel on the top of the pile in the basket and stepped into his space. Daryl wasn’t romantic, truly believed he didn’t have it in him to be anything near it. Still, when he guided your arms to his shoulders and lowered his hands to your hips, he watched you melt.

“There’s no music, Daryl.”

“Don’t need it.” He shrugged, just swaying back and forth with you, pulling you closer until you rested your head against his chest.

“The formidable Daryl Dixon is dancing with me when there’s no music playing. This’ll make the papers. It’ll be the headline.”

“Stop.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss into your hair. He was smiling when you sighed, somehow pressing yourself closer to him. You didn’t react at first when he started to hum, whether you were in shock or just relishing the moment. Maybe both. You let him continue.

It was an old tune, one from a favorite album released more than a decade before the first walker rose from the dead. The tune was slow and deep, his chest vibrating with every drone. Finally, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, the corners of your mouth perked.

“What is that?”

“How dare ya! S’Ozzy, woman.” He feigned offense but was tenderly tucking your hair behind your ears.

“I’ve never heard it.”

Daryl scowled playfully before scrunching his nose. “Remind me why I married ya?” You wrapped yourself around him and with the fondest smile he had ever let cross his face, he held you tighter.

“Because you love me.”

“Yeah.” He breathed. “Yeah, I do.”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x female reader #dad!daryl #daryl fluff #domestic!daryl #Spotify

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romana-after-dark · 4 months

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Imagine Raider!Cult!Joel...

Dub con, public sex, ritualistic sex, bukake, Tommy watches <3 gay shit ahead if you want more

We love raider Joel don't we??

So many wonderful version of him!!!

I've written a few, playing with different dynamics and I've seen sooooo many cool ideas. Such a creative and fun fandom

but imagine Joel as a raider doing pretty well for himself. He finds people respect him. He's capable, smart, calm... and handsome.

Maybe Tommy is his right hand man. Definetly the most personalable while Joel remains mysterious. He gathers a small following, mostly of men but some families. Maybe they settle somewhere, but they never stop raiding.

Thing is theres just sooooooooo many helpless people out there!!! Orphans he finds families to take care of them, and they contribute to the group in their own ways. Young men he trains so they can be raiders. Most are able to learn, to push aside that guilt in exchange for a warm bed... some simply aren't cut out for the job, and Joel tell the others they descided to leave. No goodbyes and all that.

Women depend. Many have special skills, especially older women. Medical is important, farming, clothes making etc. Hell, a handful became raiders too. Some who are younger and seem useful, Joel will play a little matchmaker. Keeping the world alive and repopulating... well he didn't exactly need a love match.

Sometimes, though, Joel would come across a young lady who was just... useless. Little to no skills, nothing of use...

That was you. He was certain he'd kill you or leave you for dead after taking everything you had... but he was merciful

Joel offered you a choice. You coul come with him, join the small group of women in his home. You would be used as stress relief for him and sometimes the other men if he felt they deserved it or needed a moral boost. He assured you they wouln't partake in violence, you wouldn't end up like so many others with raiders... just be good, and you'll remain fed and warm

First he's gotta make sure you're up to standard.

But Joel doesn't just take you to the house, he had Tommy gather up the men

Joel makes sure to make it slow. Piece of clothing by piece, inspecting your body. He treats you like a lamb, deciding to buy you or not. Makes sure you're tender and clean and sensative. Makes sure the meat is right where it needs to be. He must've liked what he saw.

You're naked and bare to all the men with hungry eyes, but Joel keeps your focus and he manipulates your body to where he wants it to be.

Joel doesn't shy away from keeping his cock in full view. He doesn't care that the men see it. He wants them to see. The physical manifestation of his power.

He fucks you there, while everyone watches, stroking their cocks. Porn videos had been gone nearly 20 years, this is what they had.

Joel fucked you with no shame, chosing positions that put both you and him on full display. When he put you on your back, Joel made no attempt to cove you up. Instead, he let the men see as every thrust of of his hips made your breasts bounce.

He took your legs, grabbing you by the ankles and spreading your feet wide in the air. He wanted to make sure everyone could see how he stretched you open.

Joel invites them closer. Tommy, the boldest, reaches out to wipe a tear from your eyes. But you aren't sad, you're intoxicated, overwhelmed with thankfullness to be chosen as you cum on his cock

Joel makes sure to let everyone know you came.

After he comes inside you little hole with a growl, Joel disengages from you, stepping off the twin bed

the men swarm in around you

They all cum on your body (but not your face), when one man finishes another takes his place, coating your skin in the cream

You must've taken 30 loads when it was all done

Joel pinches your cheeks. "You belong to me now"

You couldn't be happier

This got much longer than I anitipated so uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh more to come lol. I was initially thinking Joel with a harem but then things went cray

Reblog, comment, send asks if you wanna hear about the actual harem part

if you like culty joel please check out Devotion by @noxturnalpascal !!!!

And of course, shout out to @toxicanonymity for raider Joel, which is what got me into writing dark in the first place

#dark!joel #joel miller #dark joel miller #the last of us hbo #tommy miller #non con #dub con #raider joel #cult joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader smut #cw: dub con #tlou smut #tlou x reader #the last of us smut #tlou fanfiction

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imsobadatnicknames2 · 7 months

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What's OSR? I've seen you mention it several times in your RPG posts. Is it like a genre of rpg or...?

Hey, sorry I took so long to reply to this lol you probably already just googled it by now.

But like. Anyway.

OSR (Old-School Revival, Old-School Renaissance, and more uncommonly Old-School Rules or Old-School Revolution, no one can really agree on what the R means) is less like a genre and more like a movement or a loosely connected community that seeks to capture the tone, feel and/or playstyle of 70's and 80's fantasy roleplaying games (with a particular emphasis on old-school editions of Dungeons and Dragons, particularly the Basic D&D line but pretty much anything before 3e falls under this umbrella), or at least an idealized version of what people remember those games felt like to play.

There isn't exactly a consensus on what makes a game OSR but here's my personal list of things that I find to be common motifs in OSR game design and GM philosophy. Not every game in the movement features all of these things, but must certainly feature a few of them.

Rulings over rules: most OSR games lack mechanically codified rules for a lot of the actions that in modern D&D (and games influenced by it) would be covered by a skill system. Rather that try to have rules applicable for every situation, these games often have somewhat barebones rules, with the expectation that when a player tries to do something not covered by them the GM will have to make a ruling about it or negotiate a dice roll that feels fair (a common resolution system for this type of situation is d20 roll-under vs a stat that feels relevant, a d6 roll with x-in-6 chance to succeed, or just adjudicating the outcome based on how the player describes their actions)

"The solution is not on your character sheet": Related to the point above, the lack of character skills means that very few problems can be solved by saying "I roll [skill]". E.g. Looking for traps in an OSR game will look less like "I rolled 18 on my perception check" and more like "I poke the flagstones ahead with a stick to check if they're pressure plates" with maybe the GM asking for a roll or a saving throw if you do end up triggering a trap.

High lethality: Characters are squishy, and generally die much more easily. But conversely, character creation is often very quick, so if your character dies you can usually be playing again in minutes as long as there's a decent chance to integrate your new PC into the game.

Lack of emphasis on encounter balance: It's not uncommon for the PCs to find themselves way out of their depth, with encounters where they're almost guaranteed to lose unless they run away or find a creative way to stack the deck in their favor.

Combat as a failure state: Due to the two points above, not every encounter is meant to be fought, as doing so is generally not worth the risk and likely to end up badly. Players a generally better off finding ways to circumvent encounters through sneaking around them, outsmarting them, or out-maneauvering them, fighting only when there's no other option or when they've taken steps to make sure the battle is fought on their terms (e.g. luring enemies into traps or environmental hazards, stuff like that)

Emphasis on inventory and items: As skills, class features and character builds are less significant than in modern D&D (or sometimes outright nonexistent), a large part of the way the players engage with the world instead revolves around what they carry and how they use it. A lot of these games have you randomly roll your starting inventory, and often this will become as much a significant part of your character as your class is, even with seemingly useless clutter items. E.g. a hand mirror can become an invaluable tool for peeping around corners and doorways. This kind of gameplay techncially possible on modern D&D but in OSR games it's often vital.

Gold for XP: somewhat related to the above, in many of these games your XP will be determined by how much treasure you gather, casting players in the role and mindset of trasure hutners, grave robbers, etc.

Situations, not plots: This is more of a GM culture thing than an intrinsic feature of the games, but OSR campaigns will often eschew the long-form GM-authored Epic narrative that has become the norm since the late AD&D 2e era, in favor of a more sandbox-y "here's an initial situation, it's up to you what you do with it" style. This means that you probably won't be getting elaborate scenes plotted out sessions in advance to tie into your backstory and character arc, but it also means increased player agency, casting the GM in the role of less of a plot writer or narrator and more of a referee.

Like I said, these are not universal, and a lot of games that fall under the OSR umbrella will eschew some or most of these (it's very common for a lot of games to drop the gold-for-xp thing in favor of a different reawrd structure), but IMO they're a good baseline for understanding common features of the movement as a whole.

Of course, the OSR movement covers A LOT of different games, which I'd classify in the following categories by how much they deviate from their source of inspiration:

Retroclones are basically recreations of the ruleset of older D&D editions but without the D&D trademark, sometimes with a new coat of paint. E.g. OSRIC and For Gold and Glory are clones of AD&D (1e and 2e respectively); Whitebox and Fantastic Medieval Campaigns are recreations of the original 1974 white box D&D release; Old School Essentials, Basic Fantasy and Labyrinth Lord are clones of the 1981 B/X D&D set. Some of these recreate the original rules as-is, editing the text or reorganizing the information to be clearer but otherwise leaving the meachnics unchanged, while others will make slight rules changes to remove quirks that have come to be considered annoying in hindsight, some of them might mix and match features from different editions, but otherwise they're mostly straight up recreations of old-school D&D releases.

There are games that I would call "old-school compatible", that feature significant enough mechanical changes from old-school D&D to be considered a different game, but try to maintain mechanical compatibility with materials made for it. Games like The Black Hack, Knave, Macchiato Monsters, Dungeon Reavers, Whitehack, etc. play very differently from old-school D&D, and from each other, but you generally can grab any module made for any pre-3e D&D edition and run it with any of them with very little to no effort needed in conversion.

There's a third category that I wouldn't know how to call. Some people call then Nu-OSR or NSR (short for New School revolution) while a small minority of people argue that they aren't really part of the OSR movement but instead their own thing. I've personally taken to calling them "Old School Baroque". These are games that try to replicate different aspects of the tone and feel of old-school fantasy roleplaying games while borrowing few to none mechanics from them and not making any particular attempts to be mechanically compatible. Games like Into the Odd, Mörk Borg, Troika!, a dungeon game, FLEE, DURF, Songbirds, Mausritter, bastards, Cairn, Sledgehammer, and too many more to name. In my opinion this subsection of the OSR space is where it gets interesting, as there's so many different ways people try to recreate that old-school flavor with different mechanics.

(Of course, not everything fits neatly into these, e.g. I would consider stuff like Dungeon Crawl Classics to be somewhere inbetween category 1 and 2, and stuff like GloG or RELIC to be somewhere imbetween categories 2 and 3)

The OSR movement does have its ugly side, as it's to be expected by the fact that a huge part of the driving force behind it is nostalgia. Some people might be in it because it harkens back to a spirit of DIY and player agency that has been lost in traditional fantasy roleplaying games, but it's udneniable that some people are also in it because for them it harkens back to a time before "D&D went woke" when tabletop roleplaying was considered a hobby primarily for and by white men. That being said... generally those types of guys keep to themselves in their own little circlejerk, and it's pretty easy to find OSR spaces that are progressive and have a sinificant number of queer, POC, and marginalized creators.

#ttrpg #osr

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violetasteracademic · 4 months

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I hate the when fans mischaracterize Elain as someone who is "weak and useless" when she's been someone who's always been brave and resourceful but it was hidden because her role as the marriage cattle was just to be pretty . I'd like to know your thoughts on this topic

Hi anon!

Oh my gosh, I love this question SO much and really appreciate you sending this! I have actually been mentally organizing some thoughts on the topic for a while, and this is the perfect opportunity to address them.

To take in a complete view of Elain, her role in the marriage market, the Inner Circle, and the role her specific brand of grooming will likely play in her future and book, I have found it fascinating to take a birds eye view of the grooming done to all of the Archeron sisters at the behest of Mama Archeron. The details of the roles and dynamics of each sister has played a huge role story-wise, plot-wise, and even romance-wise. I have no doubt the same will prove true for Elain, and in my opinion we have already seen what Elain's particular skillset is and how she can use it, despite the horrendous and unloving conditions in which she and her sisters developed them and the general lack of the fandom acknowledging them.

For Feyre, her theme is "bearing the burden," and she shares it with Rhys. I think of Clarke's "I bear it, so they don't have to" stance on leadership. Mamma Archeron gave the orders for Feyre to take care of her family (who knows why, jfc Mamma Archeron) and it influenced her skill-wise and psychologically. However, one of the most powerful and significant moments came into play when Feyre had to use her tracking abilities to find Rhys after he had been shot through with arrows and taken by Hybern. She single handedly saved the most powerful High Lord of Prythian and impacted the future of the world because she was able to track him. Romantically, their story moved forward after that show of her skillset, and the discovery of their mating bond came soon after.

Nesta of course, turned ballrooms into battlefields. She was her mother's creature. Thematically, she shares this with Cassian. While of course trope wise they are black cat and golden retriever and we love to simp over Himbo Cassian, he is a brilliant strategist and commander. They are the strategizers and the bulldozers. They enact physical and psychological warfare. I loved the scene when Cassian gifted Nesta the book The Dance of the Battle, and Nesta discovered how much she and Cassian actually could understand each other, and how similar their thought processes were:

And that little easter egg- the dance of the battle, Nesta would use her training and dancing to enact finding allies amongst the enemies with her dance with Eris... I mean. Chills. And of course, her dance with Eris and offer of marriage played a role in the convo when Nesta and Cassian's mating bond snapped:

Ultimately, Nesta was taught to use marriage as a weapon. And her court would have secured a powerful ally if she had married Eris. But love will never take a back seat. She both used her grooming, but also overcame it and moved beyond it. The grooming informs them, but no longer controls them.

Now, I love all the Archeron sisters, but let's put RESPECT on Elain's name. Elain provides what we call invisible labor. She was taught to do a *lot* more than just sit and look pretty. She takes charge. She organizes and executes and is action forward. She was just taught to do it privately. Elain shows her strength behind closed doors. Of course, being an Elriel, I believe she and Azriel are tied together thematically as well. Their work and labor for their court is done in secret, in the shadows. She showed us this in her first scene returning back to the page in ACOMAF:

Elain takes control of the entire situation and lays out the plan on how to keep the secret of using the Archeron manor as the meeting place with the human queens to move the war and search for the Book of Breathings forward. She manages the house, the servants. She will step up and do what needs to be done, and she understands how to keep things behind the scenes.

She stabs the King of Hybern in the neck by sneaking up on him, stepping out of the shadows.

She surprises everyone on Solstice, privately working with healers and local vendors to provide the most thoughtful gifts for her family and friends:

We see in ACOWAR how she already had plans to run and organize Lord Nolan and Grayson's manor, adding a woman's touch to it, but she also possessed all of the details of their defenses and war -readiness, things that were likely not expected of her, nor did Grayson likely even realize she knew or understood:

Again, Elain is the one organizing and executing this plan. Glamoring Elain, bringing the other Fae to hide and obscure her scent, protecting the humans behind Grayson's barricade, all her ideas. She is smart. She is always aware of her surroundings. Time and time again, Sarah has shown us on page through her writing that Feyre and Nesta both misunderstood Elain. That they didn't realize that Elain saw and understood everything:

Elain is the queen of invisible work. Of silent labor. She was groomed to run and organize a household, but stay quiet and in the background.

Elain is not, and has never been, useless. She has been smart, she has been brave, she has calculated moves that have saved lives. She does not cower. She does not hide.

But secrecy is her theme. Working in the shadows, in the background. Laying invisible ground work.

She doesn't have to prove her value in her book. She already is valuable. But we will come to understand how she was shaped by her grooming. And I believe there is very good reason to assume the themes of that grooming will play a huge role in her story and romance, as her sisters before her.

I have no doubt she will blow everyone away with her bravery, her intelligence, and stealth. And I for one cannot WAIT for it. If people want to continue to discredit and devalue her, it is frankly their loss. We already know who Elain Archeron is and what she can do.

#elriel #pro elriel #pro archeron sisters #pro elain archeron

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a-d-nox · 10 months

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pac/pap: how do you shine? what encourages your brilliance?

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: what should you be grateful for this harvest season?

masterlist of pap/pac posts

want a personal reading? click here to check out my reading options and prices!

pile one

what makes you shine is that you try your very best to make things work. you see opportunities and you take them. when things aren't working as you'd like after trying your hardest, you try a new direction. you aren't a quitter and that is something that those around you can not ignore.

to continue to glow so bright, make sure that you are acknowledging your sadness and disappointment. cry it out if need be! it takes time and that is okay. be patient with yourself - you will continue to rediscover joy, make new connections, and find satisfaction.

pile two

what makes you shine is your gratitude for the physical things you have and receive. you hold on to things as if they are the most precious and valuable objects in the world. it could be the smallest button and yet you can seem awed by it and recognize the potential value of things that others find useless. you are a rock for many people because you can recognize their value as well.

to continue to glow and brighten your glow, continue relying on your instincts and being mature. take the high road in most instances. take initiative and make the first move where others are involved - by helping others to see their glow, you will increase your glow too. maintain integrity and you will find that others will bask in your brilliance.

pile three

what makes you shine is that you know how to start and restart with grace. you don't get discouraged by a lack of knowledge or experience. you try your best and that is what matters most. you are realistic with who you are - you are authentic and aren't ashamed to make mistakes. you are open to learning and developing new skills - you force on progress over perfection, which is admirable.

to continue to glow as bright, if not brighter than you already do, is to make sure you are acknowledging when you might be getting ahead of yourself. "the devil is in the details" they say, so don't get too focused on the small stuff - a few words said to you or what is done around you is/are not as serious or malicious as you may believe it to be. stick to the facts and all will be well.

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rea-can-yeet · 1 year

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I’m not reallyy confident with this oneeee lmao. Probably should have not wrote this during a burn out. I wonder if I could draw my barbie series this week

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REMINDER: This is gender neutral for all readers. Sagau stands for Self Aware Genshin Alternative Universe, but this is leaning much towards the God/Creator AU where the characters are aware that they’re being controlled but not aware enough to know that they’re in a game. This story is set in God/Creator AU, imposter AU, and lastly villain AU. This contains religious and cult themes, graphic violence, and probably some suggestive scenes (not this chapter yet, but the series will show some) so viewer’s discretion is advised.

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🔻

♦️

𝕄𝕌𝕋𝕀ℕ𝔼𝔼ℝ

Y/n was known as someone... normal to most. But if you have taken the time to get to know them, going so far as saying that you've known them for their whole life, you'd know Y/n as someone who'd be willing to commit a crime if the need arises. Such a thing has not happened so far (or at least one that gets the authorities’ attention), because Y/n's tenacity to thrive with their own hard work and resources has carried them away from resorting to such actions.

Y/n was clever.

Not a genius, but clever enough to survive in this generation's fast pace and harsh waters veiled under surface media's insistent idea of a calm country.

That's what Y/n's friend believes. This girl was fortunate enough to have been born wealthy, in contrast to her friend, Y/n, who was not poor but not well-off enough. She thinks Y/n was heaven-sent. No one was as loyal as them. Most approached her for their own selfishness, for their own benefit. Honestly, the world has less and less dependable and honest folks these days, she thought. Y/n was the only person to not try to exploit her ever since kindergarten and genuinely was a true friend to her to this day.

But like the wise once said; no one is perfect.

Y/n is nice… but is not harmless.

Y/n is clever, and parents who have no wealth enough to protect their child, have honed Y/n to survive any worst-case scenario. Be it how to manage money and tax, how to find a job, how to fix house materials, how to survive in the wild, how to defend against assailants that are twice their size, and other skills beneficial for Y/n.

Their parents almost thought that most of the knowledge they've bestowed on Y/n would prove to be useless in this current generation, but one could never be too careful.

They're happy for their child, how reliable they are, how Y/n used their parent's teachings as the foundation to hone their own weapon and armor, using the resources from this generation accompanied by old techniques to thrive. And they’re glad to see how Y/n is still capable of being kind despite having the child see the world without the rose-tinted glasses.

But for Y/n's friend, it's different. But it is normal for parents not to know every aspect of their child, right? The parents are correct when they believe that Y/n is nice yet strong, but the side of Y/n that is capable of being unhinged is something Y/n would keep to themselves to save their parents from a heart attack. But as Y/n's friend, she had the privilege to know this side of them.

The one who gets to see the Y/n that doesn't have the goody-two-shoes on to save them from any inconvenience.

The one who gets to see the Y/n that would use their cleverness to seek vengeance against others.

"Did you hear? I heard that the teacher from the other department got a suspension. Maybe getting fired."

"Right? The same person that accused a student from the Engineering department of stealing."

"A friend of mine who had a friend from that department said that the student was innocent."

"How did they prove it?"

"I heard that they still had the receipt from when they last shopped at a store. The time the teacher claimed that the student had stolen from her classroom was around the time that the student was shopping. The receipt contained the purchases as well as the date and time the transaction happened in there, serving as their alibi."

"How lucky that the student hasn't thrown away any receipts that day, huh?"

"Right? I'd throw away the receipt after shopping if it were me. I'm still trying to wrap my head around that teacher possibly getting fired. She's been suspected of drug use. The superiors and the police are still looking into it."

"I heard someone had given evidence to the police. A CCTV footage or something. This week has been full of things to distract me from mid-terms. And it doesn't help that the jock Steph has been admiring got kicked out from the basketball team."

"Yeah, not that I'm surprised after what he did. The captain must have been so livid to find his girlfriend's panties inside that guy's locker."

"Don't you think it's possibly the girlfriend's fault though? Like how did her panties get inside his locker? Sus..."

"No, the girl was with the captain the whole time... Oh and..."

The two students that were walking in front of her had finally swerved into a new topic while taking a left towards their classroom. She can only sigh, seriously, who knew criminology students can be this nosy? Then again, she could see how this characteristic could be useful for them.

She too, enters her classroom upon arriving. She spots her h/c friend playing with their phone, and she approaches. She sits down on the chair beside them, greeting them a good morning to which Y/n reciprocates before proceeding to finish their game.

“Hey, the prof. is coming.”

“Haha, I won’t fall for that again.” Y/n laughs lightly, eyes still on their screen.

“I know, but I want to talk with you about something.” And with this, Y/n turns off their phone to face her.

“Y’know, I heard people talking about the incident with that Karen teacher… and also the jock.”

Y/n hums, a smile on their face. “Hmm is that so?”

She watches Y/n place a hand under her chin with the elbow propped on their table, finger tapping on their cheek as Y/n wears a wider smile, eyes crinkling in faux innocence. “I guess it can’t be helped. I too would do the same.”

The girl can only sigh at her friend who was still holding that innocent look in their e/c eyes. She stops beating around the bush and gets to the point, curiosity eating at her as she is dying to know what Y/n had done this time. “Good thing that you still carried around that receipt Y/n. You wouldn’t have proved that you’re not a thief. But please bless your friend with the tea cuz I’m dying to know. Like, everything. From the teacher to the jock, everything bestie babes.”

She watch Y/n who only giggled, as if they have not just ruined someone. “Easy peasy, I followed my parent’s tips about keeping receipts. And used a good data recovery app to get the deleted CCTV footage.”

“I’ll hit you y’know.” She said annoyed as Y/n laughs. They then decide that they’re already done messing around and explain to their dear friend everything that happened. Not that it’s anything amazing in Y/n’s eyes. To them, it wasn’t that hard or anything incredible, just actions that they needed to take, but who were they to deny their friend to satiate their curiosity? Someone’s gotta entertain a rich girl’s dull life, and Y/n happens to provide enough exciting exploits.

You wonder how Bennett is taking this whole thing. He knows you, he knows that you know him. If someone knows someone’s name when they just met should garner suspicion. But he didn’t even think twice to help you. This doesn’t make sense to you.

And despite this being a game in your world, you have expected that there’s a system procedure that should have been followed, and bringing you to Jean immediately is something weird. Why is a stranger suddenly being brought to the acting grandmaster? Shouldn’t you be brought to someone of low rank for help or investigation till your situation was deemed appropriate to be handled by someone higher? After all, you’re not an immediate priority, so why bring you to Jean?

You both are walking down towards the city you assume. And so far Bennett was such a kind young man, the same from the game. Helping you out when you almost tripped (intentionally), gave you something to eat, and even showed a bright smile every time you show appreciation towards him. You decided to even shower some small compliments towards the poor boy, to which he gets shy, rubbing his head while bashfully looking away.

After walking for some time you realize the exact location you have arrived. It turns out that you woke up on the edge of the Snow-Covered Path. And now the two of you are walking on a path that leads to Daduapa Gorge. Following this (long) path, it will lead you to Windrise and then eventually to Mondstadt. If you were still in control of the game, you would have resorted to either just using the waypoints or scaling the mountains for shortcuts rather than using the current path. But Bennett insisted that following the path was much safer.

You think you have cozied him enough.

“So I want to ask you something, Bennett.” You asked, eyes staring at a sunsettia, pushing down the urge to ‘farm’ it. He looks at you, his attention bare for your question. “You seem to know me. May I ask? How do you know me?”

“What do you mean, your grace?” Asked Bennett, confused. At least Bennett is comfortable enough that he does not hesitate to answer without worrying about his words.

“Why do you call me ‘Your Grace’ Bennett?”

He pauses his steps and so do you. “You… You don’t know who you are?

“Well, I know my name is Y/n. Grew up in C/n, an Aerospace Engineer student, e/c eyes and h/c hair, home address is XXXXXXX, and still waiting for TBHK season two. I know myself completely, from childhood, my emo era, to my current state now. What I’m confused about is why I’m called the way you’re calling me now.”

“Do you at least know about Teyvat? Me? Your chosen blessed vessels? The Grand Plan?” He asks, every question turning him even more worried.

“I mean, I can’t lie. I know you, I know about Teyvat. Not much about chosen blessed vessels or the Grand Plan trademark.” It looks like it’s not just Bennett who got comfortable.

Bennett’s eyes shined at the prospect of you getting closer to understanding what he meant, although slightly. “Yes, Your Grace! Me and Teyvat!”

“However, that does not answer my question. Why do you call me that?”

“I…” His smile falters, “You don’t know what you are?”

You chuckle, “How am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me.”

“You’re supposed to be our creator!” He said worriedly, eyes expectant.

“You’re what now?” You said almost immediately.

“Our divine Creator! The one who breathes life into Teyvat! Who makes anything move according to your will! Weaving fate towards the ultimate Grand Plan. You who…” His voice lowers, eyes cast down, “You who made me feel like I was not worthless…”

“Benny… You are never worthless.” You reassured, hand on his shoulder.

Bennett suppressed the feeling of melting right there on the spot, your touch was comforting, it made him drop any guard he had and the urge to just lean onto you was so immense but he refrains. ‘You really are the creator… I can feel it.’

“But still, me? Creator? How? I don’t think I’m this omnipotent being you’re talking about. I don’t have memories of making Teyvat.” You said after letting go of his shoulder and stepping back a bit.

‘For all we know, this could just be the regular Teyvat. Then again, this Teyvat may as well be the Teyvat in my account too. We’ll confirm that when we find what point of the story Aether is in now. If it’s the same as in my account, then this is Teyvat from my account. If he’s on his way to leave Sumeru to look for the Hydro Archon, then it’s the cannon Teyvat of Mihoyo.’

She internally sighs, ‘But will that be enough to tell? Even if Aether is at the point of the story where I have last left him, I don’t think it’s enough to prove that this is my account. I need more concrete evidence. Knowing what state Teyvat is in right now will help me in getting back home... I hope.’

“Is there proof that I’m this… Creator? I don’t even know what you mean about this blessed vessel thing.”

“You know me but you don’t know the other vessels? And the Grand Plan?” He asked, “The last person your divine gaze has been on was the Traveler.”

You register what he meant about blessed vessels. It took some time to connect the dots but you get it now. The last character you used to farm was Aether, the Traveler. So these ‘blessed’ vessels are the characters that you control. And ‘divine gaze’ is probably you using them. Now how odd… divine gaze? Why does it sound familiar to you?

Ah right. Isn’t that what Blueberry- correction, Il Dottore, said during the Harbinger’s trailer? About Scaramouche conquering the divine gaze and shit? Well, you don’t really have time to contemplate that yet. Especially when you notice Bennett getting worried about your silence. You give him a smile.

“Ah, right. I didn’t really understand at first, but by vessels, do you mean the people I have controlled? Like Ae- the Traveller, Mona, Klee, you, Kaeya, and the others from here and the other nations?”

Bennett’s eyes brighten when the two of you have somehow landed on the same idea now, finally making an understanding with each other. “Yes! See? I knew you’d remember!”

“Hold your horses, little guy,” you let out a laugh, “I control some of you, so what? That does not answer my true identity.”

“But what powerful being could make us feel like we’re in a dream? Being controlled and making us stronger? No one in Teyvat could do that, at least control a lot of people without brainwashing or any dark magic according to Miss Lisa. You control us with divine powers that are strong yet warm at the same time. You gave us gifts, strength, and unforgettable adventures.”

You’re eyes widened. Of course, why didn’t you think of that?

“Okay, million dollar question-” Bennett’s confused but still listens, “-did you receive a Skyward Blade? Like around recently?”

Bennett gasps before nodding vigorously. “Yes! Yes, I did!” A bounce on his step as he gets a bit closer, “I heard you whisper that you’d test it out on a few Hilichurls! We took down at least 4 camps the other day!”

‘He’s right.’

“Then, did you also go around and collected a bunch of Sweet Flowers after?”

“Yes! We collected some Sweet Flowers and a few Sunsettias.”

‘Okay, holy crap this is my account.’ You thought while holding your head a bit. That’s one mystery closed, but didn’t mean that you have your questions answered.

“So everyone in Teyvat just collectively agreed that whoever is controlling you all are… your god?”

Seems impossible for you. Who in their right mind would just automatically say that you’re god? You know some well-brained characters in the game, those who are also politically influential and prodigies in certain fields, would find it concerning to suddenly lose their own control and start running around.

“Could you explain this Creator thing? I first used- I first had Amber as a vessel aside from the Traveler, it should have been worrying for Amber to suddenly lose control of herself. But looking at it, you act as if it’s not a huge concern. How are you confident that the one who is controlling her is your so-called Creator?”

Bennett nods, digesting his Creator’s question. He doesn’t understand why his creator is not sure, but he’ll try to help explain however he could.

“When Amber first got ‘pulled’ towards the divine light, she went to acting grand master Jean, I was there when I was getting treated by Barbara with Jean visiting the church for an inspection. At first, it was concerning but after some investigation with Jean and Miss Lisa, it was confirmed that it was the Creator. Then everyone was happy to have you showing yourself after going missing for centuries. According to Miss Lisa, you have a Grand Plan to guide the people, saying that salvation will come in a form of a person, with you guiding them.”

“Lisa said that? How do you think she knows that? And what is this Grand Plan?”

“Miss Lisa has read all the information regarding the Creator during her time in Sumeru and even from the books here in Mondstadt, she said. I don’t know about this Grand Plan too, no one does. Some have theories, but the only one who knows is the Creator. We thought only Mondstadters got the opportunity to be blessed as vessels, but it turns out others from different nations got the same treatment. Everyone has now believed that you’re starting to let your presence known.”

‘Huh, I guess I have a somewhat established title here for such a long time? And with religious power to boot? This is already starting to get even more confusing. Answers are only bringing in more questions.’

“You don’t remember the Grand Plan?” Asked Bennett worriedly, you could only smile.

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

Bennett can only shake his head. “It’s just… you’re suddenly showing signs of activity and with your actions so far that matches with the scriptures and the bible, we knew that you were our Creator! So what if you forget about the Grand Plan? You’re already showing signs of being our Creator! You know about our adventure, it showed that you have been with us with your divine presence. You’ve made me stronger, you gifted me this amazing sword. To me, you’re the Creator I’ve been praying to.”

‘Is he trying to encourage me? How sweet.’ You smile gently and pat his head. He wears that shy face again and stands up straight after you prop your hand back to your side, his face getting back to its cheerful look.

“And besides! I read in the bible a long time ago that you needed a reminder or something! So you probably just need something to help you remember!”

You hum. Now that’s interesting. So far everything felt like a fever dream, ridiculous yet… amusing. You guess it won’t hurt entertaining the idea of you being god for a while (even though you doubt it) “What else have you learned from the bible, Bennett?”

“Um, about how you look! You’re hair, your face, oh! And your name!”

“Uhuh, then?” You smiled. You find yourself doing this for your own enjoyment rather than for your own investigation to find home. But it won’t hurt to be unserious for a bit, right?

“Yeah, you’re name. Though, not many used it because they didn't want to use your name in vain. Your name is Y/n, Y/n L/n. And what else…” Bennett started to act bashful, realizing that he did not read his bible much. Oh Celestia, what would you think of him ditching the bible to play? Hopefully, you wouldn’t mind.

“I’m sorry, that’s all I could remember so far-” Bennett stops. His eyes went wide with worry as he sees your shocked face, the silence unnerved him as he stares back at your unreadable face.

Why were you looking at him like that?

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End of chapter 3: Purple Carnations

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#sagau #genshin cult au #genshin self aware #sagau villain au #sagau impostor au #imposter sagau

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