BleP ilu

And I have a lot of requests in my mailbox, a lot from my dating game I did for bg3 (a year ago 😭)

Feeling like a bitch for not fulfilling them all, but I'll still finish em even if a really long time passed

Trying to get back to normal ✌️

So bg3 and F&H(T) fics are back

He lays next to you. Calm, motionless, steady breathing.

Asleep.

You look at his usually combed hair, now disheveled.

At his usually cold eyes, now closed so you can admire his fluffy eyelashes.

At his jaw, which sometimes moves in his sleep. Covered with a light two-day stubble. Too short to shave, but already noticeable when kissing.

At his chest - rising and falling, broad shoulders. He sleeps in his boxers, so you can mentally worship his body. Although he's complaining that he gained some weight.

He looks healthier with those extra couple of pounds.

He snores. Now to loud, but in the dark of the room too noticeable. He layed too low again so he'll snore all night long.

And you don't have enough strength to lift him a bit higher on the pillows.

Although you can wake him up - would you? - when he finally greed to go to bed early with you instead of greeting the dawn, hugging waste paper at his desk.

You lay your head on his chest. His snores make a rocket like sounds in your ear with each of his breaths. You don't mind. You dunno when will be the next time to fell asleep together like that.

So if he snores, you will listen. And get used to fall asleep like that.

You won't dare to exchange this for sleep in silence.

Alone.

and I was like

"Oh, he's an asshole

But in a nice way"

I'm still not over him

Tags and warnings: Eng is not my first language, a bit suggestive

"The last one? She knew how to mother, let me tell you"

You pount your lips, crossing your arms on your chest. Franco doesn't get it.

He expected you to fall into his arms - he even put aside Lupara to greet you properly - and now he's almost naked in front of you. Stands in the hall of theatre in his fancy suit, arms spread out to the sides in a place of trust, openness, absolute credence.

Head title to the side as if expecting you to finally slip, show that it was all just an obsession under the influence of intoxicating gas and flashing images, or even worse - your pretense. Now your distrustful (disdainful?) expression will be followed by a comment about what a impotent freak he is, all the same words he has heard hundreds of times from sluts and...

"What ya doing, Sweetface?"

And just before he's drowning in his doubts completely, reaching for his shotgun to put the finishing touches, you start to creep up on him. Dancing with each step as if you were wearing dancing shoes instead of being barefoot, you slide across the cold floor toward him.

"Franco?"

You sound innocent. Too innocent for the movements of your hands, sliding along the hem of his jacket when you are close enough. You look at him from under the lashes of your half-closed eyes and reach for the butterflies on his neck.

"Did she mother you better than I do?"

Hands reach for the ribbon, the index finger is threaded under it.

"W-what -ya !?" He puffs.

One turn, two, three... The tension hurts your finger, but the moment Franco shudders and freezes, this time completely still, you know the goal has been achieved. He swallows deeply, loudly - the band tugging tightly on his neck makes the movements of his Adam's apple clearly visible.

"Did I not pay enough attention to my favourite boy?" the question is rhetorical. "You don't miss the opportunity to indirectly remember her almost every day, that makes me doubt you really miss me that much."

With a jerk of the tape you push his face between your breasts - you removed the mechanism as soon as you entered his trial.

His answer is muffled, not like you really care to hear it. You're pretty sure it's some kind of excuse. Much clearer than words - his hands, which had been fluttering in the air until then, now fell synchronously onto your breast and hip.

He sobs breathlessly in your chest, so you feel a warm, almost dump spot left by him as he tugs back, just to choke his invocation.

"That's not, I-" he stumbles blankly "Mother- Mother may I... - I!"

His open mouth haunts along your chest till it's right on your nipple, not biting yet, observing you with pleading rosy eyes.

Still breathless as you tug his collar, he scorches this most tender area with an open, greedy mouth, hovering a millimeter away.

"It's only you. Only, only, only you " like a prayer.

He looks at you slyly, making attempts to move closer, but your hand on his neck doesn't let him. He could if he wanted to, but it's more interesting this way, right?

Oh hi 👉👈

Thank you! I think this boi deserves more attention and love

Usually I'm pretty bad with long fics, it's like "oh idea!" after hearing one-line and something small happens, I'm really glad you liked it! 💕💕💕

Sadly this blog is absolutely incoherent, filled with my hyperfixations, and right now I'm absolutely fixed on Outlast (Trials) Franco Barbi and Miles Upshur mostly so I'm open to suggestions 💕

Tags and warnings: Eng is not my first language, nsfw

Humiliation.

The only thing you are feeling right now is humiliation. You haven't felt this humiliated when the big guy grabbed you by the hair and slammed you into the wooden planks of the trailer. When you stepped on the glass next to Screamer, going deaf and blind for a good ten seconds. The humiliation right now isn't the fact that you were backed into a corner of the empty cafe set and injured, like you had been hundreds of times. It is humiliating to look at the big head freak with the butt of his shotgun resting comfortably against his belly

His barrel pointed at you.

And even more humiliating is the wetness between your legs.

There's a metallic taste on your lips and that same smell from the dentist's office. You doubt it's reality, it's something old, long forgotten. Something from that past life that doesn't matter now, much more significant - a cold tightness in your mouth that makes your cheekbones ache and your lips start to crack. The barrel doesn't fit entirely, only half, exactly half, but it's more than enough. The end slides over your lower teeth with a groan echoing in your ears - it seems the enamel has started to crumble. You don't care.

Don't care at all.

Not when he looks. Flushed, with watery, shiny eyes. His mouth opens sloppily, showing a jagged row of teeth. He looks closely, savoring this moment of dominance, his moment

You are trapped between the wall and the barrel.

Absolutely, uncompromisingly

Caught

"Keep going" he encourages you, pushing the pacifier further so that in order not to choke you have to resist, strain your neck.

The wall presses painfully on the back of your head.

It seems funny to him.

So, so funny, so that his hand slides down, and the plump fingers that had been lying on the bracket slide onto the trigger. Not until it clicks, not a full press, but enough to almost rip the firing pin and set the mechanism into action. Enough, so for lack of any other way out, the tip of your tongue falls into the barrel, surprisingly still hot from the previous shot.

The taste of bitterness, gunpowder, blood, dirt - an amber that starts to settle in your throat and your eyes water. You whine. And it makes him even more happier.

Your hands hold your side, torn not too deeply, but deeply enough to wet your clothes. Bown stains creep toward your groin, and the heavier fabric sticks to your body, exposing the curves that had previously been hidden behind your tunic.

"Suck, take it, you who-re."

He buckles his hips with each letter again, and again, and again. With each thrust the back of your head meets the wall, each second of respite turns into a new wave of pain in your cheek, while the corner of your lips gives in. Wet with saliva - and tears? - the barrel slides deeper, all the way to the stop, crushing your tongue on the way - as if you had bitten it ten times at once. The protest is muffled in your throat, unable to escape, the squelching sound with one more experimental movement of Franco dies, without weakening the pressure. So hard that your jaw joint creaks pitifully, but

you don't twitch

don't move

don't resist.

Only whine quietly, sobbing in unison with your ragged breathing.

It will either end right now, or a little later, when you won't have time to crawl through all the tasks.

The show is interrupted by a deafening siren. They've made it. Deprived of Franco's attention, they've completed the trial, and can save themselves. It doesn't make your humiliation any easier, but it does make your soul happy just a little bit.

The man snorts. Pressure on your head eases and he can finally take a clean breath. As much as possible clean, with notes of mold, dampness and the smell of Franco.

"Ya should keep practicing." He coquettishly looks at your hunched figure before him. Small, scared, beaten down. Painted in shades of red and pulsating pink - on the lower part of your face, where the barrel of the Lupara has French kissed you.

"And maybe ya get a promotion." The barrel is pointed at you. You shiver, getting ready for pain or more humiliation, but this time he doesn't aim - the metal hits the top of your head, just behind your night vision goggles.

Your hands fall on his cheeks.

"You know that's not true, right?" you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood a bit, but he crooks his eyebrow

"Don't play tha' shit with me, Sweetness. I'm pretty aware of my look."

Your hands creep upwards, to the sparse blond hair, tangled in clumps between your fingers.

"Maybe, fair point" you back off a bit, picking pieces of glass from his rare hair. "And anyway, I like your appearance, you know. You're pretty for me in your special way"

You leave a quick kisses to both of his bulging eyelids as your hands caress his scarred temples.

Franco stays silent for a moment, falling into your mothering touch

Tags and warnings: English is not my first language, baby fever, mention of Caleb prosthetic arm, Zayne being too doctor

Zayne

Checks on them immediately. It's a habit, something that happens out of control

He wants to be the father first, but his doctor's knowledge kicks in

He checks theirs falling instinct, let baby falls for a sec to look at their little trembling hands, squishes their cheeks to check sucking muscles and the moment little one makes this pointy face with squirmed puffy cheeks it hits him

It's his

His little baby

Not the one he helped caring for during his pediatric practice. It's a baby, baby like ones he held already, but this one

Is h i s

He feels embarrassed for a second, like he shouldn't treat them like that, even if all his actions were just to check baby's health

The next second he brings them closer to his chest

His, his, his. He feels their bubbling with each heart beat chest, wiggle of their little muscles and tiny breaths

He heard it during ultrasounds, yeah, but right now it finally feels real

It feels like responsibility.

Caleb

He hold them with one arm, left only. He's scared his metal arm will somehow hurt the infant in his arms

Secondly, his arm associates with Fleet and he doesn't want his child to be somehow connected with it. Not now yet, for sure

Baby in his arms is warm and fighting, they are wiggle in protest, making faces

And Caleb laughes. He thinks they are perfect. Just like you, his cursed genes that were scattered and put back together during experiments didn't ruin the baby. He's thankful

He feels like a winner. He won, he outsmarted the death itself. He's alive, you're alive, he did it

And you two made a baby

This little baby in his arms is a proof he still has a future. Future with this silly domestic bliss he imagined as a teenager, future he thought he was robbed of after the explosion

Future he fought all his life for

I don't have enough unique bg of effects tho 😔

I was struggling with Caleb's 30th deepspace trial for like two hours since 3 am and got a special text message (?) , about not being able to deal with trial

and

Sir? 👀 Are you stalking?

Little nsfw warning, but nothing really graphic, just mentioned, English is not my first language. I kinda feel tired, so it's really self-insert and my romantic rambling

You want - crave for - someone who will be dedicated to you as Caleb dedicated to MC. And be dedicated in return.

Who will crave for you, but cherish you more to hold his hands to himself, not pushing himself all over you.

Someone to wait for your messages and have your own little things like habits or special phases.

You want someone to be the first to install a couple Flo, not to check when it's a "head day", but to comfort and care for you.

You want someone who won't see you as an object to please their sexual needs, cuz you're so much more than you body.

You wanna share all those depths of your love language not only with your friends, but with special one. Also because you feel the destruction of this stock with each passing year.

You want to have someone whose only appearance would make it a little less stressful. Not so tired. To know that you're not alone.

To hear this "leave it to me" thing. Cuz you're kinda tired of taking care and taking care and taking care of others.

To be sincerely proud of his achievements. Someone who's little talk about their day would make you laugh or be stressed too.

You wanna snuggle together and run your fingers through his hair. Him lying on your chest and just rest in you arms.

You cook together and share all your favourite dishes. Know what he likes and feel seen when he remembers you don't like something.

You want someone to scold you for ruining your sleeping schedule and staying late to have a convo with you.

To share stupid photos of stray cats or pretty things you two saw in shops. "Us?"

Make him a face mask and gossip about mutual friends or share a story from work.

Someone who'd be your 1st emergency contact and you know he'd call and check up on you immediately.

Who would occasionally give you those adoring glances that would make a smile curl up the corner of his lips. Who would sing along to the romantic songs playing on the car radio as the fresh air from the window ruffles his hair. and he'd mean every word.

Someone who'd just appear in front of your door with "I felt lonely, wanted to see you", and you wouldn't feel threatened or pressed, cuz you missed him too.

Someone who'd remember your perfume and buy it to remind him of you when you are separated because of work or distance.

Wear his clothes and show him your new outfits.

Someone who'd like to know you the best. And be sincere to open up to you too.

Cuz I think Caleb would do all of that.

LADS made me realise a few things, maybe not the most pleasant ones, maybe in reality it's not so good for my mental health - moreover with my delulu hitting me in the middle of the day. But I just want to be truly appreciated, you know? Narcissistic thing, huh.

I don't have male childhood friends whom I'd like to date or anything, nor do I have male childhood friends or single male friends in general. Maybe I just need some friends to lovers thing in my life, cuz it feels more natural for me.

It's hard for me to open up to people immediately, it took months or even years to feel safe and close to someone. And usually when someone tries to make the first move it's because of my look, not my soul - although I doubt anyone would like it too - and usually it means skipping the "friendship" part.

Maybe it's just spring affecting my rumbling. Or the taxi driver who tried to eat me with his eyes and made me feel not dirty, but awfully angry.

okay hear me out

Caleb would l o v e to put a baby in you, to mark his territory, to make it obvious that's you're his and his only, so his that you're showing, that you're round with his child. He's claimed you every way possible.

On the other hand he understands that babies need time and attention. And all yours free time you once had would be thiers - your baby's - not his and his only. I can see him be some kind of jealous of his own kid. He can imagine you carrying them around, squishing their soft cheeks, bubbling with them and it makes his proud, for sure, but at the same time really really envy.

Playing for 29 days

I know I'm horny, don't mind me

Y e s I'd like to try somewhere else too tho

Couldn't shoot related interaction - gonna try again later - but ooof what are you hinting at, sir 👀💕

👉👈

Yes he calls me Love. And yes I want to go further

I was trying to unzip it, sir

Possessive husband