I swear "x reader" fanfic writers save lives. You feel lonely and touch starved? Get some cuddle content! Everything kinda sucks right now? This character want nothing more than to comfort you! And they do requests, FOR FREE?! They are some of the most creative creators I've seen. I always feel better reading yalls content. Makes me feel less alone. And for the people who are like "that's so cringe," you know what's more cringe? Criticising people having harmless fun.
Idk about you but if a priest coded, holy, and devout character that appears to be above reproach and untouchable in public tucked their fingers underneath my chin and pressed a soft, gentle kiss simmering with lust to my lips while murmuring, "my sweetest temptation. My most beloved sin." in a voice dripping with reverence as though I was on the throne of whatever being they worshipped in private, I'd simply become the very object of their obsession.
i just think that leon could be railing tf you, like rearranging your guts and making you cry……... all while holding your hand and stroking your hair n stuff :(( yeah
A hot tear rolls down your cheek. You’ve never had him like this before. This hard. This rough. Leon has always been careful with you, but tonight, you asked him not to be. Looked up at him through your lashes and asked him to ruin you, as you’d put it.
And well, you’re getting what you asked for.
“You okay, pretty?” He says, gripping your hips hard as he pushes into you, hips landing flush against your ass. It’s a rhetorical question; he knows you’re enjoying this. He only made you repeat the safe word close to a dozen times before pinning you onto the bed and having his way with you. “This what you wanted?”
Your hands clutch onto the bedsheets for life, head impossibly hazy from how Leon has utterly abused your cunt for the past thirty minutes. Swiping over your clit with his thumb and pulling away when your thighs start to shake. Rutting into you hard and fast, but never keeping up the pace enough for you to climax.
It’s pain and it’s torture, but fuck it feels good.
He wraps a hand around one of your thighs, pushing it over his shoulder, eliciting a broken whine from you. He’s buried deeper inside you now, somehow. Stuffed like you’ve never known.
“N-Need to cum, Leon,” You look up at him, glossy eyed and pouting. “Please.”
“You’ll get to cum,” He grunts simply, lifting a hand to push some hair away from your face, his thumb tenderly stroking your temple. “You’re— fuck. You’re gorgeous like this.”
Truthfully, Leon wasn’t totally convinced by the idea. Fucking you until you cried, until you begged. But you’re clenching tightly around him, making the most wonderful sounds… you’re ruined. Ruined beautifully by the pleasure only he can grant you.
His free hand moves so he’s thumbing at your clit again, and you cry out at the pleasure shooting through your core. One of your hands moves from the sheets to clutch at his shoulder, but Leon is quick to envelop it in his own, lacing his fingers with yours and pushing your hand back against the pillow. You’re sure you’re squeezing it uncomfortably tight, but if you are, Leon doesn’t mention it.
And fuck, you’re crying again. You’re overwhelmed and overstimulated but somehow none of it is enough, your orgasm impending yet too far away with the game Leon seems to be playing.
This is what you wanted, after all. And well, you’re not complaining.
Upon seeing your cheeks wet and your eyes wide and blinking away tears, Leon leans down, never slowing his torturous ruts into your cunt as he presses his lips to the salty liquid on your skin.
“You’re taking this— mm, so well…” He utters against your cheek, hissing as you tighten around him. “So pretty getting fucked like this.”
His lips are soft and comforting, along with the hand that’s squeezing yours in reassurance.
When your eyes meet his, they’re heavy and dark. Plagued with desire and a thirst for your pleasure.
You don’t think this is the last time you’ll have Leon like this. It’s a thrilling thought.
okay but i need a reader who is badshit insane, i need a reader with a history dretenched in so much blood that it’s stained them.
i need a reader that can be as stoic and scary as ghost so much so that they’ve become more of a legend then a person, a rotting grave that holds the bones of who they once were.
or a reader that was always drawn to the glint of a knife and the sight of blood running down their hands until no more skin showed, more monster than human since birth.
let them be feral I BEG‼️‼️‼️ especially for price, let them be feral and protective and obsessive and in love with price please 🙏🏽 🗣️
Warning: angst, explosions, mental headspace talks, this probably won't have a part II.
141 x gn!reader (platonic)
Dividers by: @cafekitsune
The team would be in stressful situations. Solo missions, hostage situations, arsonists, terrorists. It comes with the territory.
So for you to be as light-hearted as possible. It can get on their nerves.
It wasn't like you did it just to irritate them. You have the talent to make any dire situation as easy as possible. Gaz often told you it was an amazing gift you had. Ghost automatically gravitated toward you because of it. Soap would yearn for it. And Price, well you had meetings in his office just for him to make sure it wasn't coming out of a dark place. But they loved you like one of their own.
That doesn't help you right now, though.
You had just gotten back onto the humvee, being carried there by Ghost as you had gotten way to close to the explosion that Soap detonated himself after Gaz gave the all clear.
It wasn't clear. A little girl was running towards the blast zone, all for the toy she left behind.
Your heart sank, and so did Price's when he felt your arm slip out of his grasp just as Soap announced the timer.
Ten seconds. The men had ten seconds to grab you. Ten seconds to save you. But you wouldn't let the innocent die so easily. And they knew that.
So when you had your arms wrapped around the small child, Ghost yanked you towards him and with sheer adrenaline carried you out of the way and behind cover in the very last second.
After the blast, you poked your head out to check over the child, all while picking her up and running with the others to safety.
She screamed and cried all the way over to medical. You did your best to soothe her stress and worry, which surprisingly worked. The medics took her from your arms, and Ghost whisked you away.
Now here you sat right a the edge of the humvee. An angry Captain staring at you from the other side of the opened doors, Soap gripping the steering wheel, and Ghost slamming the door shut on the passenger side. Gaz was checking you over for injuries.
"Taking you back to camp. You may not have any visible injuries-"
Your mouth opened before you could stop.
"You could always kiss 'em better, huh Garrick."
Price growls your callsign. The deathly grave tone in his voice runs your blood cold. "You can truly joke at a time like this? You almost died, soldier."
You felt your throat run dry. A moment of silent and frozen fear ran through your arms.
"I just...wanted to lighten the mood."
"Lighten the mood? What the fact that we would've been the reason ye fucking died needs to be lightened?"
"N-No that's not-"
"Get in the humvee, sergeant." Ghost grits out.
No one else says a word as you climb into the vehicle.
You're being reprimanded as soon as you get into Price's office. Ghost is glaring at you from the corner and the other two sergeants are sat on the sofa.
"Do you have any clue how dangerous that was?" He asks. You shouldn't answer. "You're trained to think quick, think about your team and think about YOURSELF."
"But-"
"'But'?" he repeats. "'But' what, sergeant? Do you have a death wish?! Is that what I'm getting from you? Are you going to be this reckless when we'll be needing you-"
He goes on, monologing. The kindness you've always shown, was thrown at your face. The shoulder you let them use to cry on, was long forgotten. The tight hold you would have them in when they almost died for each other, for you, was ignored.
As if all you ever did were mistakes. As if all you were good for was to be a little comfort stress ball for them.
As if you didn't have shit that haunted your nightmares either.
The worst part of it was that you couldn't blame them. Your nightmares weren't just your own. They were theirs too. You understood where this anger came from. But when the realization of you almost dying hits, and this is how you're treated?
Fair to say, you snap.
"Ghost goes on solos without contact for fucking months." You finally cut in. "Gaz is quite literally ready to fight any point of command the second they don't give a fuck about their people. And Soap is the one in the line of fire when it comes to his explosives. That isn't reckless-?!"
"That's a load of bullshit!" Ghost shouts at you, standing from his position. "This isn't a fuckin' therapy session. You were out of fuckin' line for what you did. We all have a job to do and savin' that girl wasn't a part of it-"
The volume of his voice does nothing to scare you at that moment. Instead, you stand and turn around. "Then what is mine, Lieutenant?!"
The room goes silent. "What's my job then?! huh!? Do you think I search and vent with you assholes for fun?! I need someone too goddammit."
You glare at the two sergeants, who have suddenly decided they couldn't look you in the eye.
"None of you give a crap about your lives. Ready to lay your life on the line for the better of the world. Hell, what's that saying, cap?" You turn back at Price. "'We get dirty and the world stays clean'? Well, why the hell am I extent from that?"
Gaz stands to push you back into your chair before you rip away from him.
"I'm not a kid. I'm your teammate. Fucking treat me like one."
"You're being reevaluated." Gaz blinks at the floor, unable to look at you still. "Price has been meaning to-"
"Garrick."
"Our teammate deserves to know this, Price."
Soap sighs, a hand rising to pinch his nose bridge. "This isn't the time nor place for this-"
"Then when is it?!"
The argument amongst them is drowned out, at some point, you can tell Ghost has joined but your eyes are too locked in on Price. Who suddenly grew a heart and shook his head at you. "You needed help."
"So those meetings-"
"Had nothing to do with this. But what you did was too reckless. Even for you."
You laugh. Airy and dry. "You're so full of shit, Price."
Ghost tries to stop you from leaving. His hand is hung in the air as you have taken a step back from him. "I was there for you when Johnny got shot. It wasn't just for you. You know that."
One last look into the room and your words were left hanging in the air. "All of you know that."
Raphael reacting to waking up as the little spoon, even though his little mouse is smaller than the fiend. Like Tav's chest is pressed against his back, arms loosely but tenderly wrapped around his torso, their head resting by his shoulder blades as he feels the mortal's peaceful breath gently fanning the base of his wings. Perhaps the fiend even realizes that his tail has ended up coiled around one of Tav's legs.
Awwww anon, this is so adorable 🥺 I honestly didn't know what to add to that, so I just expanded it a bit. Hope you like it
Little Spoon
Raphael x gn!Tav
Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3
Rating: G
Word count: 0.2 k
His mind slowly emerged from the depths of sleep like a diver from the ocean. The sensation of having a body came back to him in pieces. The mattress that pushed up against the weight of his body and the soft sheets that covered him. His back was wet, a strange feeling that made him wonder. A weight pressed down on one of his wings; it had gone numb at some point in his slumber.
Puffs of air tickled his neck and his shoulders in regular intervals, and a heartbeat ticked away, pressed against his back.
Right, they were here. The little mouse. His little mouse. The small body pressed against his backside and their arm draped over him, holding him as if he were something to be protected. He glanced over his shoulder, trying not to rouse them. They had shrugged off the blanket, and their sweat told the story of how warm they must be, so close to the fire that burned in his veins.
In his sleep, his tail had gained a life of its own. It loosely wrapped around the little mouse's leg in an almost loving embrace. Raphael rested his head on the pillow once again when the arm tightened around him.
"Stay a bit longer." Their sleepy voice mumbled, and they nuzzled their face into the space between his shoulder blades. He pressed their hand to the centre of his chest with his, covering it almost completely.
Warnings: NSFW, downright horrendous thoughts about a devil, excessive breeding, overstimulation,,,
Just thinking about how in canon Raphael can't last very long so he cums quickly. Almost too quick. So this got me thinking about Tav being bent over on their hands and knees while Raphael is rawdogging them from behind, but despite how many times he's cum already, he can't stop. It feels too good.
So here he is, a fist in their hair as he's holding them to the bed, breeding them time and time again. There's so much of it that its spilling out down both of their thighs and onto the sheets. It's so hot, and sticky. Tav has cum maybe once or twice so that only added fuel to the fire. The both of them making a plethora of whines, growls, gasps, etc because they're both overstimulated to hell and back but Raphael keeps pushing through it. He's almost addicted to how good they feel.
"J-Just- fuck - just one more little mouse. You can give me that, hah- can't you?" He's pleading, pushing back into them more. Tav just whines the whole time, taking whatever it is that he gives him.
story summary; shortly following the death of your mother, you come to learn that you're the illegitimate offspring of a railroad tycoon with insurmountable wealth and power meant to inherit it all. after a hasty departure from home to begin your journey across the continent of san-am, your train is stopped and boarded by a mysterious man in black tatters who claims to be there kill you.
story warnings; mentions of death, mention of bodily fluids and excrement, heavy worldbuilding, mentions of conspiracy to murder, kidnapping, neo-western setting, old-west slang used, usage of unique slang, not really proofread or edited, concept piece for a much larger project.
if you enjoyed, please interact & reblog this post!! ❣️
Mother died a week before the lawyer showed up on your doorstep with an inheritance letter and half-hearted condolences for your absentee father’s poor prognosis. A day after that, your life was stowed into a pair of suitcases and a heavier hard case that you barely justified bringing aboard the train. In three weeks and three layovers, you would be across the continent in St. Corpus, the industrial heart of San-Am, where your father awaited you on his deathbed.
Horace Grissom had fathered a new age of industry and outward expansion in lands once believed to be sprawling metropolises centuries long gone. They had been left behind as skeletons of steel and rust from a time of global war, reclaimed in totality by the roots of elder trees, the decay of salt and sea, the precarious will of mountains, and the great sinkholes and corrosion of sand and time.
Traces of that old world had survived thanks in part to the rigorous efforts of archaeologists and conservationists at the University of San-Am in Grimerise. With each new discovery, opportunistic vultures like your father blotted their pens to their tongues to their pocketbooks and readied themselves to own the patent of it like history had a price and could only belong to them. Indeed, anything could be bought, because with those fragments of history, he built the San-Am Continental Railroad which crossed through each of the five territories and was considered the premier way to travel.
You were never allowed to ask questions about Horace under Mother’s roof as the very mention of his name would set her ablaze in some pettish, garrulous tantrum that, oftentimes, ended with you going to bed before dusk without dinner until the next day. She loved that bitterness up until the very moment she died, clawing your clothes, your skin, her nightgown, her own throat because she couldn't breathe and there was nothing you could do to save her from succumbing.
“Go in peace, Mother.” you said, kissing the back of her sun-speckled hand even as she tried digging her nails into your face. “I love you.”
She did not waste peacefully, nor did she end by staring up rapturously at the ceiling as though something else waited for her beyond it. Mother passed in blood, vomit, excrement, and all her hatred while you bade her farewell and considered who was best to call to have her body carted away to burn with all the others that had also succumbed that day. You made sure to label that as the cause of death on the official paperwork.
After that, you had made quick work of piling all of her things into boxes to be incinerated as well, certified the house was safe and in a liveable state (besides her old mattress, which was the first thing you disposed of because of the smell) for another family to move into.
Once all of that had been finished and you gained the time to rest, you got a knock at your door, a bald, sinewy man with a round hat claiming to be Joseph Whitwald—estate planning lawyer, he made sure to specify more than once—and that you needed to leave post haste to your father's estate in St. Corpus before he perished.
“You have significant placement in his will, illegitimate or not. This is what he wanted, this is what shall be done,” said Whitwald assuredly as he rooted through the pockets of his pants and white suit vest for something. He found it and made a sound and a flourish, revealing to you a red ticket. “Take this. It's for one of the elite cabins in first class. Your father wanted you to have the best amenities that the San-Am Continental has to offer.”
Even with such luxuries available to you with the sound of a bell on string, you eventually found yourself exchanging tickets with a young woman traveling solo for the first time. She went red in the eyes, asserted her appreciation, and scooped you into a hug before taking the ticket and her belongings to the first car.
The passenger car was considerably noisier with children running amok, drunks and musicians belting tunes while dancing in the center aisle—doing poorly to keep their balance as the train navigated the terrain beneath the rails, and ladies in bustles and fashionable blouses screaming like hens over fresh gossip. The stewards were frustrated that they couldn't get their trolleys through all the bodies, whereas some passengers let their stomachs roar through their mouths as they assailed anyone nearby (especially the poor lads just trying to deliver food) with complaints.
You liked everything happening around you; it was a good distraction from the way life had twisted your arm behind your back. The cacophony of laughter and anger felt like home, a comfortable companion to sit there with you on the empty, thinly padded benches while you stared uselessly at the inheritance papers—uncomprehending.
A gasp shot up your throat and made you bite your tongue as you were launched forward onto the adjacent bench (also empty) when the train suddenly began to slow—brakes engaged with such quickness that the wood beams under your feet vibrated up through your soles into your bones and teeth and skull until you became lightheaded and collapsed back into your seat.
The squeal and grind of steel worsened your confusion, turned the fuzz in your head into dull drumming—aches that pulsed to a beat you couldn't figure out, but it deadened the screams all around you and bodies hitting the floorboards in thunderous heaps.
And then, there was silence.
The other passengers kept their voices low as they climbed back into their seats, children were smothered deep into their mother’s bosoms as they wept, and no one dared to investigate what had brought the train to such a violent stop.
“Mummy, what's happening?” asked a girl from the benches behind you. She couldn't have been older than ten, from the sound of her. “Mummy, why—”
“Lottie!” the mother hissed at her daughter, “Shhh! Say nothing else, child.”
From a few seats away, closer to the front, you recognized the gruff, muddled voice from one of the drunkards who had been dancing in the aisle a while ago. Now, he had a bloody nose and a nasty knot growing on his forehead.
“What the hell is the big idea of them scarin’ the piss outta us like this? Do you see my face? They gonna do somethin’ to fix it?” he complained, then swigged liquor from a flask he had smuggled on. “I should go up there and give ‘em a piece of my mind. Bastards.”
“Peace, friend,” soothed a musician with an unfamiliar accent and stringed instrument. “Don't be hasty. I'm sure there’s a good reason why they had to stop. Let them find a solution, we’re just here for the ride.”
Just as the chatter was rising up again, commotion from the first class car stifled it hard, prompting some folks to abandon their seats near the door separating the cars to crowd into the rear. You were tempted to flee with them, join their pack so if they were going to find a way off the train, you'd be mixed up in their stampede and have a better chance to get away.
Except, you simply packed away your inheritance paperwork and sat there with your chin tucked to the collarbone, the visor of your baseball cap pulled lower over your sunglasses to seem as nondescript as possible. Meanwhile, the sounds from first class grew intense; glass shattered, passengers screamed and shuffled around, something you knew to be true because you felt the floor rumble under your feet again.
And then, the passenger car door slid open without the ferocity you had expected. The door scraped along its metal rail, allowing the body to pass through in heavy, languid steps. You paced your breaths to hear it all; the boots and clinking spurs striking wood with dull thuds, a baritone hum that you were convinced you could feel reverberate in your own chest as it came closer, the scuff of thick fabric and creaking leather.
You waited for it all to pass, to move on like a slow-moving rain cloud amidst a humid summer day, but it stopped at you instead. The tips of the man's boots were within view, as were slithers of tattered, black fabric from a long duster that fell short of his shins.
And then, there was the barrel of a gun. The breaths you had been holding shivered out of you, cold dread sank deep into your stomach and bones as the gun flicked upward a few times.
You obeyed and raised your head up to look at the man—tall, broad-shouldered, a rugged face with dark features mostly obscured by the shadow of his wide rim.
He tilted his head, gun higher as he flicked it down and you understood that to mean to take off your sunglasses. When you did so, offering him a full view of your face, his lips lifted crookedly into a half-smile.
“Well then,” he took the bench adjacent to you before holding something up to your head, seemingly a piece of paper, and shifted his gaze between you and it just twice. “Aren't you something special? Found you, darlin’.”
“What?” you frowned. “Found me?”
“Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny. You're definitely his kid. It's all in the eyes, really.” He said, turning the paper around to reveal a photograph of a man who you did share an eerie likeness to. It was the sameness in the eyes—the color and shape and emotion they evoked through a simple still image. “Horace Grissom had an illegitimate kid a long time ago. Turns out, not everyone is so pleased for that to become public knowledge. Turns out, someone wants you to bite the ground.”
“I've done nothing wrong!” you bristled.
He settled on the bench and hiked an arm up across the back of it. “That's usually how it goes, hun. Puttin’ holes in types like you really ain't my favorite thing to do. You'd be surprised how many people get put in your exact situation. Well, eh, not quite. ‘Cause not everyone is Horace Grissom’s kid.”
“Who hired you?” you demanded.
His lopsided smile remained. “Can't tell you that, darlin’. Confidentiality an’ all that.”
“So, then, you're a bounty hunter?” At this point, you weren't sure if you were trying to stave off an inevitability, or he had just riled you up that badly. “How much are you getting?”
“Enough to live the high-life for quite a while, I'd say.” He continued, “but I ain't no bounty hunter. Them folks gotta play by rulebooks an’ a bunch of codes and whatever. Not my thing.”
“A criminal, then,” you said. “An outlaw.”
He shifted the rim of his hat away from his eyes and leaned towards a pillar of golden, midmorning sunlight that came in through the window. “Sure, if that's what'll make you feel better about this entire thing.”
You could actually see him now—the contrast between the ambery hue in his rich complexion and pale green of his eyes. His skin had some weather to it, enough to prove that he had seen the worst of every season for years on end without it wearing him thin, along with thoroughly kempt hair on his face and loose waves that draped slightly beyond his shoulders.
“I…” the longer he stared at you, the less you were able to think. That was ridiculous considering you had survived the soul-crushing burden of engineering school and all of the personalities therein. “I can offer you something better than what you were hired for.”
He did a fast sweep of the colossal heaps of fabric hanging from your frame, a style you preferred to keep eyes off of you on the best and worst of days. It didn't do much to deter him as it did others.
“Oh, yeah? Whaddya got, hun?”
You lifted your shoulders and stacked your bones right. “I've got a vast inheritance that I'm not interested in. Horace is dying and I’m in his will to receive half his properties, along with his shares in the San-Am Continental Railway and Subsidiaries. If you can get me to St. Corpus, you can have the inheritance—every last gris.”
A shrill whistle echoed around your head, tuneful and mocking. The sound of it whittled your confidence back down to nothing, filling the space of your throat with a vise that you couldn't seem to swallow around. That same great unease you had felt before weaseled around in your chest, coiled your ribs and then plunged straight down into your gut.
“Good offer, but it ain't on the table.” The way he spoke was easy and slow, a thick drawl that suited every bit of him up to even now. He acted as though he weren't essentially holding a gun to your head, threatening your life in the name of money—or something else. “Gris is always good to have lyin’ around, but, honey, it don't really mean a lot to a man like me. Why, then, d’ya think I take on work like this? Why do ya think I trek halfway across the five territories time and time again? What really keeps a man goin’ out here in this godforsaken place?”
You felt yourself shrink in your seat as he leaned forward over his thighs, coming closer still like he had a secret to keep. “It's for the thrill. The hunt. The challenge of it all. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't actively seek out men to shoot or… nice types like you, but part of the fun is trackin’ down, the other part is just havin’ a chat—just like this.”
Then, he had the picture of Horace held out to you between two fingers. “Tell ya what, I see that hard case you brought aboard. I know what it is, but I want you to offer me somethin’ more interesting than a bunch of gris.”
You scrunched the photograph against your palm once you had it, hoping the sweat off your skin would ruin his face and make the ink run, but looked to the aforementioned hard case instead.
It was made of a hard plastic shell with strips of rubber outlining the odd shape of the thing. Inside was your handheld welding gun—one of many—that you had decided to bring along for little reason besides thinking it could be of use at some point during your time away. It wouldn't be enough to handle larger jobs such as the ones you were accustomed to in the workshop back in Grimerise, but it could fix a wagon or two, glue some pipes together, and do some damage if need be.
“C’mon, darlin’, sell yourself to me.” he pressed, gesturing his impatience with winding fingers. “What do you do for a living, huh?”
“I'm an engineer,” you continued hastily, “I-I can solder, weld, braze, cut, and saw. I can do anything if I have the right equipment.”
In turn, he asked, “Does that mean you can cut open a safe?”
“If you give me what I need, I can do anything.” you said.
A new sort of look overcame his features, one of great fondness and admiration that made the green of his eyes take on the milky luster of jade. You had the hope that this unique softness would gain you freedom from a shallow, empty death; a chance to go forward to seize the assets sworn to you by a man you'd never known.
His hands came forward to take your wrists, the weight of them first heavy and then cold as a pair of handcuffs were locked around you, knocking bone when you lunged back into your seat and fought against them.
“I've got myself quite boon!” In the next moment, he had hauled you up across his shoulder, retrieved both your suitcases, and called one of the stewards to carry your welding gun after him. “Time to go. Gotta introduce you to the crew and get ya settled in.”
“Wait, I don't even know your name!” you shouted and thrashed from shoulder.
He grinned. “Jericho, darlin’.”
a/n: so, this is a concept piece to a very large neo-western project I'm currently in the process of outlining and fleshing out. most things mentioned in this little oneshot will not be present in the final piece, the quality will, of course, be substantially better.
jericho is an outlaw with an extremely complex background story and will definitely be one of the more interesting characters I've ever written. he's not necessarily the sort of man you want entangled in your life, but he's loyal to a fault once you have his trust. his personality tends to revolve around "taking things as they come", which is a great nuisance to those around him. he likes a good challenge, strong liquor, and good medicine.
here's a brief glossary if you're interested:
san-am: the continent where events take place. no one knows what it used to be called because most historical documents have been lost. it's divided into five territories with a "capital".
grimerise: the central hub of commerce, home of the governing bodies. it's a large city dead center of the other four territories. mc was born and raised there. the university of san-am is also here.
st. corpus: the industrial heart of san-am, found down south near the seaboard. mc's father lives there.
"gris": currency in this world. its components are coins and bank notes. it is a relatively new thing to come about because the bartering system is still the preferred method of trading.
Jason Todd who decides to play with your hair while he fucks you. He keeps a remote controlled vibrator to your clit and keeps it on low while he drags his blunt nails over your scalp. He coos at you when you shudder because of his gentle trails over the nape of your neck. He ups the setting every time you whine just so he can hear more of it. He just wants to see how much he can get you to react. He loves the way your body can’t help but squirm for him, not to mention the noises he can get you to make. He's obsessed with the way your brain turns to putty when his fingers play with your scalp. He loves learning how hard he can scratch which parts of your head and what it will do what to you. He wants to try it all.
Hc for Halsin, Astarion, Will, Gortash, (& maybe Damon and Raphael) caring for a loved one with chronic illness or like an illness that keeps them bedbound for an extended time
A/N: Oh Nonnie, do I feel this ask lol. Chronic fatigue sucks, mainly because so few people don’t understand it goes beyond being just ‘tired’. There’s brain fog, stomach issues, and body pains– so I tried to touch on each of these symptom types for each character response. However you’re doing, whether you’re in a flare or not, I want you to know your illness is not your fault. You didn't ask for this. Don’t feel guilty for having to take care of yourself. You’re worth it. I promise.
Also, this is unrelated but it’s lowkey funny that the week after I got diagnosed with a weird anemia, I write an answer for an ask about chronic fatigue. lol
TW: Mention of Chronic Fatigue/Pain, Brief Mentions of Sex
🤕 BG3 Men Caring for a Gender Neutral! Loved One With Chronic Illness 🤕
Astarion:
Worries. Like A LOT.
Tells you not to be so dramatic about it but will literally sprint towards you if he even hears you sigh.
He asks Karlach to carry you.
Steals somebody’s cart/chariot if she refuses and instead makes her and Shadowheart take turns pulling that. (Jokes on him, they do it because they’re your friend, not his lol.)
Has you come on missions because he feels more secure knowing you’re right behind him, and he can keep looking after you. Astarion makes sure to always sneak ahead so you never walk unknowingly into any danger
Will give you massages if you’re in pain frequently, especially shoulder rubs, as he loves the view it gives him of your pretty neck.
Speaking of necks, feeding is a huge no-no. At least, until you start feeling a bit better. And then he’ll only allow himself a taste. Gods knows you need all your strength, and he would feel terribly guilty to take what little you have from you.
Lowkey appreciates the bags under your eyes and the way you can look like death incarnate, because well, then he doesn’t stand out as much. He also finds it strangely alluring, how you can look so fragile yet be so strong. It inspires him to find that balance within himself if he’s being honest.
If you have trouble ‘performing’ due to your illness, he’s not upset at all! (He’s actually quite relieved.)
Loves finding other ways you can be intimate together, like going to a spa and sharing a bath. Or finding a highly-rated inn and cuddling under some luxurious silk sheets.
Turns out that after a lifetime of being forced to do things, Astarions is more than happy to spend his time doing nothing with you.
Wyll:
Is so sweet and tender when he speaks to you.
He’s literally Prince Charming, which makes you his Sleeping Beauty.
On your good days, he’ll have you stand on his feet as he twirls you around, finding this the best way to ‘dance’ with you, given your current stamina.
Requests for you to stay back at camp and rest while he and a few of the others handle the more taxing and dangerous missions. Gifts you some books and journals of his to keep you occupied in the meantime.
When he comes back to camp, the first thing he does is check on you. If you’re awake, he’ll make sure your needs are met before tending to his own. Doesn’t matter if Wyll’s starving and covered in guts, if you need a drink or an extra blanket, just say the word and he will fetch it immediately.
Will recite poetry to you on the bad pain nights when you cannot sleep because everything aches too much. He knows his voice won’t stop the pain, but he hopes it provides a soothing atmosphere to just rest in, even if sleep cannot find you.
Is always so tender and gentle in his lovemaking, that it’s rarely an issue for you. However, on the nights that it is, don’t feel bad at all. Wyll adores you for much more than your body. He loves your mind, your heart, and your soul. Just being near you, knowing you love him back is more than enough.
Halsin:
Is always prepared with some medicinal herbs or a healing spell.
He’s a natural caretaker, and you are no exception. However, when it comes to you, Halsin does approach the act a little bit differently.
It’s much more personal when he makes you health potions or casts spells to heal you, you can see it in his eyes. In a way, it’s as if your pain has become his pain, and he needs the relief just as much as you.
As long as you give your consent, Halsin prefers to have you touching him. Be it laying on top of his chest, or seated on his lap, he always wants his skin against yours, as if his touch alone could shield you from your illness. You find it rather sweet of him.
He pleads for you to stay behind in camp, or the grove- somewhere that is not the center of the action. He wishes for you to remain out of the fray, fearful that in your condition, fighters with less honor than he would take advantage of your vulnerability.
If you need to be in a house with a room, and not camped out in the woods, he understands, although it may frustrate him a bit. He believes nature is the perfect healing environment, but he also trusts that you know your illness better than anyone. After all, you’ve managed it all these years. So instead, he simply brings nature to you.
Haslin decorates your bedroom with plants, trees, and succulents. If you’re allergic, he enchants them to reduce their pollen production.
Halsin understands he is rather large in the ‘down there’ department. If you cannot have traditional sex with him, it’s not a surprise to him. He knows more than one way to please his partner. He’s very giving and seems to get off on your pleasure more than his own at times.
Halsin thinks you are one of the most beautiful gifts of nature. Your illness is just another part of you, and because it’s a part of you, he thinks it’s beautiful as well. You may resent it, but Halsin could never separate that part from you and hate it. He simply loves the whole of you too much to do that.
Dammon:
Oh my god, he’s such a sweetheart.
But also a low-key tease.
He has no issues getting or reaching things for you, but he does have a mischievous side, so be prepared for him to hold your things hostage, in exchange for a kiss or two.
Has a habit of finding you curled up in bed on your worst pain/fatigue days and peppering you with kisses, and won’t stop until you laugh.
Forges special mobility aids! Do you need help walking? Pfft. Not a problem. Dammon’s an incredible blacksmith, and he can make you armor that helps stabilize you. You know those really cool joint support braces you can get on Etsy and stuff? Yeah, he makes you DOZENS of them, all in different metals and designs, to match your mood/outfit for the day.
While on the road, or in the grove, he always ensures you’re armed with some sort of easily gripped knife or sword, just in case anyone attacks. He does his best to keep you close, never walking too far ahead or behind, but you having that extra layer of protection makes him feel all the more reassured.
He's not a fighter, but years of working in the forge have made his arms and back strong. He swears he will do everything he can to protect you, that no harm will come to you so long as you stay close.
Is so relieved when you make it to the city at last. He’s so grateful that he can finally provide a real room and bed for you. He feels as if the entire journey has been worth it now that you’ll be able to rest and heal as you need, in the kind of safe and stable conditions you deserve.
Comes in from a long, sweaty day of working in the forge, but immediately sets his sights on taking care of you. Draws a bath but insists you bathe first, as the water won’t be full of grime and ash after he bathes.
Is always surprised and very flattered when you tug him in with you, still touched by your affection for him, as if you’ve just met for the first time. Dammon’s still a little shocked that out of everyone, you chose him. (Ironically, you feel the same. You’re a perfect match!)
Insists on taking the lead during more intimate moments, and to make sure you just lay back and let him do all the work, introduces soft silk ties for your hands and ankles for whenever you feel like indulging in that kink with him.
Gortash:
Spoils you rotten.
No, really.
Part of the highlight of being a Lord, soon-to-be Duke, is that he has the power to make all the other people do things for him. And no task is too costly or requires too much manpower so long as it means you’re taken care of.
Buys the most lavish sheets and sleep sets for you. He wants you to be comfortable, the both of you deserve nothing but the best, after all.
Assigns around-the-clock healers to you 24/7. They are always in your home, on-call, awaiting your request for relief. He wants every measure of treatment and remedy explored. If there’s a spell or herb that can reduce your pain, then you shall have it.
Enjoys any downtime he has with you. Has his staff put a special chaise lounge in his office so you can visit him when he’s working.
Gortash is so used to putting up fronts for everyone else, that it’s nice to let his guard down around you. You don’t judge him, or think less of him for his ambitions. Other people would run if they learned the truth, but not you. No, you’re so much more special than that.
Of course, whenever you go out, you have your own guards and steel watch keeping you safe from anyone who’d wish to harm either you or him. All the other Lords and Ladies of Baldur’s Gate don’t dare say a mean word about you or your abilities, lest they wish to face the wrath of a peeved Gortash.
As an inventor, Gortash invents the very first automatic, steampunk-esque wheelchair for you. It’s powered in the same way his Steel Watch is, and it is uniquely one-of-a-kind, tailor-made just for you.
You know how in the game it’s hinted that Gortash basically stole and fucked his way into the high society of Baldur’s Gate? That many of the widowed Ladies gifted him lavish presents (like the deeds to their house?!) in response to whatever ‘relationship’ he had with them? Yeah. The man knows what he’s doing. And he does it well.
Your fitness level is no concern to him. The both of you will enjoy yourselves. He learns how to play the erogenous zones of your body perfectly, and in the event you’re too exhausted to play his, he has some, shall we say, special toys, he’s created just for himself. Course, should you ever ask, he’s more than willing to share them with you. ;)
Raphael:
Switches between pampering you to badgering you about it.
When he’s feeling particularly generous, he makes a point to overindulge you, making sure you’re aware of how unselfish he’s being at the time.
He’ll make sure you have not only whatever you need, but also, anything you should want. As a devil, he does have some magic up his sleeve, ready to take care of various aches and pains that you feel.
Ensures no other beings in the House of Hope lay a finger on you. No, that’s a privilege for him and him alone.
Of course, such benevolence from him comes at a price, so don’t expect the luxury to come freely, without strings attached.
After he feels you’ve rested enough, he switches from being overly doting to being more curt, and even a bit cruel.
You honestly don’t expect him to let you lounge all day, do you? Surely there’s a way you could make yourself useful to him. Your attention, your company, your body… there must be something of interest to him at the moment. Of course, Raphael won’t tell you outright what he wants, you have to figure it out for yourself each and every time.
More than anything Raphael loves your adoration, your attention. Just sit with him in his office as he reads over the various contracts he has binding any number of sorry souls. Ask him questions, praise him. Tell him you think he’s brilliant… Darling just worship him.
And after his ego’s been satisfied, he’ll go back to worshiping you. Relationships are all give and take after all.
(And don’t worry if you’re too tired or in too much pain to perform well in bed. He’s certainly no good at it either lol.)
Really I can't believe there isn't more appreciation for Rugan. That man called my character a Beautiful Bastard and instantly brought back my dormant Brynjolf disease.
Word Count: 525
Warnings/Notes: Reader is feeling playful and takes Maul’s lightsaber. Light verbal warning, nose nudges, and a brief kiss. I’m keeping the original title for this. I think this was supposed to go in a slightly different direction, but it’s been a few years since I had written this idea for a fanfic.
Summary: The Reader is feeling playful and decides to take Maul’s lightsaber. Maul watches them closely and asks for it back, but they refuse.
~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~
Moods. Changing like a tide and largely affected by a greater outside force.
As your day progressed, you found yourself in a rather teasing and playful mood. It was a wonder why you took so long to find Maul. He had not moved for quite some time. The holopad within his grasp had been holding his attention with a variety of news outlets. The holopad, however, was not what you were after.
Locking your eyes on your target, you moved stealthy forward casually. The long silver hilt of his lightsaber hung on his belt, nearly motionless.
Even if you were to make an actual effort in being sneaky, it would not work. He was always aware. Always. Force or no Force, you were sure it was natural for him.
Walking by him, you gingerly reached out and snatched the weapon off of his belt.
Maul rose a brow ridge, his eyes chasing the motion of your hand. At the sound of him setting the holopad on the table in front of him, you turned around, pausing your movements with a hidden smile.
Overlooking your posture, he likewise sensed your demeanor. He studied you, something he found himself doing occasionally. Eyes flickering around your face, he stopped. “My lightsaber,” he requested with a sigh. But you made no indication that you were going to move.
Slowly, he approached. I’m only going to ask you once more.“
You shook your head in refusal, smiling. Though when he got within arm’s reach, you swiftly hid the hilt behind your back with both hands.
Maul stood stoic in front of you. With his closeness, you could feel both his body heat and his breath as he exhaled smoothly. All the while, neither of you broke eye contact.
Placing his hands on your shoulders, Maul slid them all the way down your arms. When his hands reached yours, they molded over yours in a gentle grip.
Another moment of staring at the other, you finally made a move. A simple nudge, from the tip of your nose to his.
Maul’s face relaxed and his shoulders followed suit, and hung low. Adoringly, he smiled at you and nose nudged you back. It was brief, but as you kissed him sweetly, his breath caught. Would he ever get used to such an action? A gesture that he obviously returned.
Slipping one of your hands out from under his, you offered his lightsaber.
He took it almost leisurely, and clipped it back onto his belt. With his other hand, he continued to hold yours, bringing them to your sides and out of hiding.
“Do you need to return to your holopad?”
“Not presently,” he voiced silkily, his free hand lightly pushing against your lower back until you closed the small gap of space between the pair of you.
You hummed contently. “Maybe I should spoil you,” you thought aloud. Resting a hand along his arm, you gave his bicep a teasing squeeze.
As important as his lightsaber was, it was only a tool for Maul to use. You were exceedingly more important. Someone he cared about, and who cared about him in return.
Summary: Driders shouldn't get drunk unless they stumble upon intoxicated prey...what happens in the woods, stays in the woods 😏
Your group had finally made it out of the shadow-cursed lands. Despite the protests of your companions, you decided to let the drider Kar'niss tag along your merry group of misfits. They hadn't glimpsed into his mind, seen what you've seen, so naturally they wouldn't understand your reasoning but you simply couldn't leave him to his death at Moonrise Towers, especially not after he'd decided to defy his queen and help you defeat Ketheric. And, as you journeyed together, engaged in peculiar conversations along the way, you unexpectedly grew fond of the drider's company. Approaching the first bigger village, you decided to set up camp. While your companions sought solace in the comforts of a local tavern, longing for a soft bed, you chose to remain on the outskirts of the forest, keeping Kar'niss company as he dared not reveal himself within the village. Setting up a modest tent, you kindled a small fire and couldn't help but smile as Kar'niss skillfully spun his web between the trees.
"I'll quickly head to the tavern, have a few drinks, but I'll be back quickly", you said to Kar'niss.
"Yes, yes", he mumbled somewhat distractedly, "we need to hunt, we need food, go, we'll be busy."
"Remember to not kill any villagers", you warned him sternly, receiving only a nod in response.
With sorrowful eyes, he watched as you made your way towards the village.
Two drunkards staggered towards the forest, belting out an odd melody at the top of their lungs, swinging their tankards and occasionally taking a sip. The commotion caught Kar'niss' attention, prompting him to approach them cautiously while remaining hidden in the shadows. A smile tugged at his lips as he observed them walking straight towards his web. Easy prey, he thought, licking his lips hungrily, his arachnid instincts awakening. He made his move, his eight legs carrying him silently towards the trapped men. With a swift motion, he pierced their drunken flesh, letting the crimson elixir flow into his insatiable mouth. Kar'niss moaned with delight as their blood touched his taste buds, savouring its distinct flavour that was both sweeter and more tantalizing than anything he had ever experienced. The more he drank, the hazier his mind became, intoxicated by the unfamiliar warmth that coursed through his body. Relinquishing his hold on the men, he ran his tongue across his lips, relishing every last drop of blood that clung to his face.
As Kar'niss attempted to navigate his way back to his tent, he was taken aback by the surprising turn of events. His own body seemed to betray him, causing him to stumble and sway, his numerous legs becoming tangled in a rather clumsy display. Amidst the chaos, he found himself overcome by a mixture of laughter and tears, as these emotions washed over him like a powerful wave crashing against his fragile psyche. He almost felt like being thrown back to his earliest days as a drider, when he struggled to control his unfamiliar form. However, this time, along with the sensation of warmth, there was an overwhelming sense of joy that spread throughout his chest.
You rushed towards the woods, feeling guilty for lingering at the tavern longer than planned. Your footsteps abruptly halted as you caught sight of your little camp. Next to the fire you saw Kar'niss lying on his back, which immediately felt wrong, he'd be too weary to let his guard down like this. Concern gripped you as you heard him sobbing, prompting you to sprint towards him.
"Kar'niss, are you alright? Are you injured?", you called out, but all you received in response was a playful giggle.
A peculiar scene unfolded before your eyes. He lay on his back, his eight legs lazily sprawled to the side, occasionally twitching as he sniffed one of your tunics. He clutched it tightly to his chest as though it were the most precious treasure in the world.
"Kar'niss?", you cautiously inquired as you knelt beside him.
His gaze shot upward, quickly shifting towards you as a grin spread across his face. Attempting to raise himself, he gave up halfway and slumped back onto the ground, emitting an amused sigh.
"Our beloved queen has returned," he slurred, his words drowned out by a heartfelt sob. "We've missed yoooouuuuu."
"What happened to you? Have you eaten? Are you feeling unwell?" you inquired.
The drider inhaled the scent of your tunic once more before carelessly discarding it to the side, causing it to land directly in the fire. Great there goes my last clean untorn tunic, you thought to yourself. Distracted by your last precious piece of garment catching fire, you didn't notice that the drider finally managed to turn around. He lifted himself up, only to lose his balance once again. His upper body came crashing down upon yours, burying you beneath him. You gasped for breath, realizing how close the two of you had suddenly become. His torso pressed against yours, his hair cascading down on either side of your face and the tip of his nose nearly touching yours. Seven eyes were fixated on your blushing face as Kar'niss suppressed a groan that rumbled deep within his chest.
"We've grown fond of you, new queen, you saved us", he whispered, "we-I want to thank you."
Leaning in, he clumsily pressed his lips against yours. Surprisingly, you found yourself moaning into the kiss, which he interpreted as an invitation to deepen it with his tongue. It never occurred to you that Kar'niss would know how to kiss, but it made sense considering his previous life and the charm that still radiated from his face, probably being popular among female drow back then. Squirming beneath him, your hands gently pushed his face away, breaking the kiss as you gasped for air, still trying to process what was happening in this moment.
"She doesn't desire us, we are not deserving, we apologize," he muttered, attempting to retreat, but you refused to release him. Instead, you delved into his thoughts, seeking the memories of this evening. You witnessed the presence of two men from the tavern, observing how Kar'niss consumed their blood before stumbling towards your tent. It finally dawned on you: he was drunk, completely and utterly inebriated, without any restrictions, fear or doubt holding his true self back, baring his vulnerability to you.
The irony of the situation amused you; amidst all the trials you had faced, being trapped beneath an intoxicated drider who held affection for you was definitely an unexpected turn of events. With the connection severed, Kar'niss playfully nudged your cheek with his nose, demanding your undivided attention once more.
"We saw your memories too", he whispered, "secret glances, racing pulse, concealed thoughts."
Your eyes widened in shock and fear, realising that he had rummaged through your mind as well, finding feelings you'd planned to keep hidden.
"You desire us-me, you desire me", his voice sounded so fragile in this moment, "despite this curse, shattered, undeserving, ugly, you desire me."
His lips quivered as he tried to grasp onto your feelings for him, his heart aching as it experienced the love and desire it believed it would never feel again. You pulled him closer to you, your lips meeting his in a more intense kiss this time. Kar'niss moaned, feeling your hips pressing against his, your connection reigniting, both of your desires intertwining in a flawless symphony of lust. His hands delicately caressed your body, as if afraid that his sharp claws might accidentally tear your skin. Moans of pleasure escaped from your mouth, occasionally muffled by his passionate kisses, as you felt something firm pressing against your clothed arousal. Your curiosity led your eyes to glance downwards, where you noticed a long hard skin coloured member nestled between two plates, just above the point where his drow and spider forms merged. A question formed in your mind, but before you could ask, he released you from his embrace and moved away.
"We were her ultimate failure, condemned to this existence, never to experience love, yet burdened with desires and the potential for intimacy", tears streamed down his face as he revealed the truth. You focused on flooding his mind with your love for him, the deep affection you held, and the burning cravings to be with him in his current form. Looking into his eyes, you severed the connection with one final statement: she was mistaken, I desire every part of you.
Perhaps it was the lingering influence of the alcohol or the consequence of the emotional barrier finally shattering completely, but it awakened a primal desire within Kar'niss. A wild instinct overtook his entire being as he pounced on you, violently tearing your garments apart with his razor-sharp claws. Before you could even process a fleeting moment of sadness for yet another piece of clothing shuffled off this mortal coil, his hardened length pressed against your wet folds. Your gaze shot upward, witnessing Kar'niss losing himself in the throes of pleasure. His many eyes shut tight, his mouth agape, and his tongue flicking over his lips as a deep growl reverberated from deep within his chest. The scene before you was captivating, etching itself into the depths of your being. A resounding moan escaped your lips as your hips involuntarily bucked, causing him to slide effortlessly inside you.
More moans escaped your lips, blending with the passionate cries of his name as he stretched and filled you entirely. Both of you gasped for breath and remained motionless for a brief moment, relishing in the sensation of being so perfectly intertwined with both your minds and bodies. Kar'niss slurred unintelligible words, his eight legs struggling to support him as one arm wrapped around you, pulling you close against his body. With great effort, he managed to stand up, still burried deep inside you, but the intoxication was still taking a toll on his coordination and he stumbled forward. Barely avoiding the nearby tent, his other hand slammed against a tree trunk for stability, causing your back to collide with the rough bark. The sudden movement caused Kar'niss to slide even deeper inside you, evoking a shared groan of pleasure. Your inner walls tightened around him, on the brink of orgasm from the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. Desiring more of him, your fingers curled around his neck, drawing him in for a passionate kiss. Your tongue eagerly explored his mouth, intensifying the connection between you. Kar'niss's body moved with a swiftness that surpassed his thoughts, struggling to grasp the euphoric situation he found himself in. His hips immediately began thrusting into you at a brutal pace. His heart threatened to burst from his chest as exhaustion spread through his body, yet every fiber of his being was determined to persist. Eventually, his legs trembled and gave way, causing both of you to collapse onto the tent, tearing it down in the process. In a desperate attempt to maintain balance, Kar'niss's claws slid off and left deep marks in the tree bark. However, neither of you cared about the chaos surrounding you as he continued to ravish you relentlessly while you moaned loud enough for all of Faerûn to hear you. In between panting breaths, Kar'niss uttered your name as his length twitched inside you as he filled you with his seed. With two final thrusts, he pulled out just before your own orgasm consumed you.
You were about to huff in protest when he forcefully pinned you to the ground, growling fiercely before he settled between your legs and his tongue eagerly began to flick at your clit. Your mind spun as you felt him suck on you, his tongue delving deep into your entrance to lick up the mingling of your fluids with his own.
"Gooooood....moooore", he mumbled against your wetness before sucking at your clit once more.
You could feel your climax approaching rapidly again and just as you were about to reach it, he thrust two of fingers inside you, pushing you right over the edge of pleasure. You cried out his name, your hands grasping onto his hair as your legs twitched and trembled. Kar'niss chuckled softly, gently lifting you up and stumbling unsteadily towards his web in the trees. He settled down, cradling you in his arms, ensuring your safety so you wouldn't fall.
You couldn't recall the exact moment you drifted off to sleep, but as you awakened to the animated discussions of two awfully familiar voices, it dawned on you that you were not inside your tent and the sun had already risen. Startled, you bolted upright, oblivious to the fact that you were entangled in a spider's web among the branches. Without warning, you tumbled forward, nearly letting out a scream until an arm swiftly caught you, pulling you back against a comforting form. When you turned your head, you discovered Kar'niss nestled in the web, still sound asleep while holding you tightly with a contented smile on his face. As you glanced down, you noticed Gale and Astarion standing by your tent. Gale appeared visibly agitated, gesticulating wildly, until the pale elf's eyes met yours, his face adorned with a self-satisfied grin.
"Oh I know exactly what kind of animal went on a rampage here last night", the vampire chuckled, "but rest assured, she is not present. It is likely that she slept elsewhere and will join us shortly at the tavern."
"How can you be so certain?", Gale huffed, crossing his arms.
"Gale, darling, I simply know", Astarion smirked, taking Gale's arm and leading him back to the village.
As they walked away, Astarion turned his head one last time to wink at you. It was clear that this day was going to be a tedious one, filled with questions you had no desire to answer.
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