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oh-theseus · 1 month

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bloody stones

pairing: astarion x gn!reader, astarion x gn!tav summary: you nearly die and astarion still can't bring himself to be honest with you. word count: 4,018 a/n: first time trying to write for astarion (or just bg3 in general) & i'm not sure it came out how i wanted it to, BUT i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless <333 i kind of wrote this to be like a background for a future thing i think... but no promises bc i am anything if not inconsistent 😭

warnings: descriptions of blood & injury, canon typical violence, mentions of past abuse. lmk if i should add more!

You were fairly certain you had never been as close to death as you currently were. Even while trapped inside of the nautiloid ship, you had felt like you would make it out. Granted, that might have been because you thought Lae’zel was going to kill you if you died, but still. Even then, on a ship that was actively crashing from hundreds of miles in the sky, you’d thought you’d make it out.

That hope is nowhere to be found as Z’rell drives her ax into your lower leg. You have been injured in battle dozens of times but this is the first time your injury has ever made you fall to your knees within three seconds of receiving it. There is next to no pain at first, but then she pulls her ax from your leg, and it feels like… well, like your leg was just split open.

Blood gushes down your leg, and you can’t stand up again, but by the grace of one of the gods, you manage to block her next attack. Her ax meets the blade of your sword with a loud clang that you can hear over the sounds of other blades clashing and spells being conjured. Anger blazes in Z’rell’s eyes and she surges her weapon further with as much strength as she can muster. You met her with the same effort, but you’re losing so much blood so fast. You’re not nearly as strong as she is.

A noise that is somewhere between a cry and a grunt falls from your lips. But you are certain this is it. You’ll die here. In Moonrise Towers with a parasite wiggling within your skull. You’ll die in a blighted land and your friends will go on without you. If they survive, that is. You can feel your arms wobbling, about to give out. Her ax will come down on your neck and you’ll sit here choking on your own blood until you die. Maybe she’ll dig the Illithid parasite out of your skull and consume it just as your Dream Guardian had urged you to do so many times before. You doubt Z’rell would have qualms about it though - if fact, she might just keep you alive while she digs around in your skull. She seems like the type.

But then there’s an arrow embedded in Z’rell’s neck. And now she’s the one choking on her blood, her weapon faltering. You don’t have time to be grateful, not when she’s determined to make a killing blow and take you out with her. It takes all of your effort to roll out of the way, her ax bouncing off of the bloody stone floor where your head had just been seconds previous. Your head is spinning from the movement, and your leg feels like dead weight, but you manage to draw your dagger and shove it deep into the disciples stomach.

Z’rell falls to her knees. Then forward, onto her face. Dead.

Hands are underneath your arms, dragging you away from the rest of the battle before you even have time to process that you aren’t dead. You have half a mind to kick and struggle, but when you try to push the hands off of your body you stop your fighting. You know these hands.

“Astarion,” you choke out, tilting your head upwards to see him above you, carefully dragging you behind a turned over table. You can feel a trail of blood being left by your leg; for a moment you wonder if Astarion had smelled your blood before he saw it.

“Don’t talk,” Astarion scolds, propping your back against the table. Blood is splattered on his face and armor, his bow slung across his body. Your eyes shift to his quiver where only three arrows remain. If you weren’t so busy trying not to pass out from blood loss, you might have told him you were right when you’d told him this morning he needed more arrows. But you can hardly convince yourself to breathe, let alone make a joke.

Astarion’s face is twisted into an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before. There is determination there as he examines your wound, cursing beneath his breath. There’s concern too. But something else dances in his crimson eyes that makes you tilt your head to the side curiously.

Fear.

Astarion is scared.

“How bad?” you force out, leaning your head back against the overturned table. Your eyes lock on the ceiling of Moonrise. This had been a temple once. Briefly, as you fight to keep your eyes open, you decide that it might’ve even been beautiful.

“Not terrible,” Astarion lies. You know it’s a lie, and he knows you know that, too. You might’ve looked at him, tried to assure him you would be okay if you believed it. But you’re not quite sure that you do, so you keep your eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of battle slowing down behind you.

Astarion stops talking after that. Your silence and sudden interest in the ceiling is enough to make Astarion certain his heart will start beating again just so it can race in fear. But his hands are quick in grabbing a healing potion from your belt and helping you get it down. They’re faster still as he shuffles through his discarded back for cloth to press to your wound.

Blood quickly soaks the white cloth and Astarion’s hands, but the vampire doesn’t mind. He can’t be bothered to think about how potent your blood smells, how easy it would be to just take some for himself. He is certain that if you’d been bleeding out in front of him like this when you first met that he would’ve taken every last drop of blood that he could get. But right now… Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to puke at the sight of blood more.

Astarion isn’t sure he’s ever felt a panic quite like this before. Perhaps when he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground. Maybe when he’d realized he was a slave to an evil vampire lord. But other than that? No, Astarion had never felt fear like this. Fear that clutches him by the throat, makes his hands start to tremble. Fear that won’t let him focus on the battle coming to end. Not even to see if his companions - his friends - had survived. All he knows is you, your blood coating his hands, and terror coursing through his entire being.

He’s so consumed by his fear that he doesn’t notice you’ve finally passed out. Nor does he hear Shadowheart approach until she’s shoving Astarion away from you, her hands immediately coming to rest above the gash in your leg. She starts to mutter the words of a healing spell and even Astarion can tell that she’s completely spent, that she’s using her last bit of magic and strength to coax your skin back together.

“Wake them up,” Shadowheart hisses, her eyes still locked on your leg. “Wake them up now, Astarion!”

The near crack in Shadowheart’s voice stirs Astarion from his fear driven stupor. His hands are on your face immediately, your name falling from his lips once, twice. His fingers find the pulsepoint at your neck, and Astarion doesn’t dare to move until he feels it. It’s faint, but it is there.

But your eyes are still closed, and no matter how hard Astarion tries, you will not wake up. You’re still breathing, but it’s hard and labored, and Astarion is certain that if he looks away from you for even a moment you will be gone for good. He didn’t know much, but Astarion did know that a world without you was not one he was willing to return to.

By the grace of… something, Shadowheart manages to mend the skin of your leg. She’s exhausted and can hardly stand by the time she’s finished, but she does it. You’re still out cold, and Astarion is not sure whether to start crying or to find something else to kill to distract himself.

“It’s the blood loss,” Wyll assures him quickly, hauling Shadowheart up from the ground with her arm over his shoulders. “They’ll live. But we need to move them. Now.”

The Blade of Frontiers does not waste another moment, leading Shadowheart across the main floor of Moonrise Towers, down into the basement. Astarion doesn’t hesitate to do the same with you, his blood coated hands holding you so, so carefully.

When you wake up, you’re pretty sure you’re dead. You didn’t know what you expected the afterlife to hold, but it certainly was not a stone floor and the smell of mildew. For a second you think that maybe you could be somewhere else (somewhere where you are not dead) but you can’t think very clearly right now. All you can feel is a distant throbbing in your head and a bone deep cold. Your leg… You could feel your leg. That was good, considering the last thing you could recall before passing out was taking Z’rell’s ax to your shin.

And Astarion. You remembered his familiar grip, pulling you to safety. You remembered his crimson eyes, the fear you’d seen in them. But that was it. You didn’t remember passing out or how light you had felt while blood seeped from your leg. For a moment, it troubles you that you can’t remember. But if this was truly your eternal resting place… maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember. You’re not sure that it's really something you’d enjoy dwelling on for the rest of eternity.

You’re not sure how long you lay there. You don’t move your body, and your eyes keep falling closed every once in a while. You feel lightheaded, yet impossibly heavy at the same time. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is a god here, because you’re gifted the memory of doing the very same thing before passing out the first time. And this ceiling looks remarkably similar to the one in Moonrise Towers.

That voice, too. The one you can hear in the distance - almost as if they are shouting for you from the other room. The voice is so similar to…

“Astarion?” You breathe out, your eyes finally shifting away from the ceiling. They fall instead to the person beside you. At first, they’re just a jumble of white curls and red eyes. But then your vision clears and so does your hearing. Astarion’s repeating your name, asking if you can hear him. All you can do is nod. At least you know you’re alive, though. Or at least, you’re pretty sure. Your brain is still foggy. The lingering effects of blood loss? Or perhaps one too many healing potions?

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position. Astarion’s right hand splays against your lower back carefully, his left one hovering in front of your body to catch you if you fold in on yourself. When you straighten your back, the room spins so fast you’re certain that Gale’s cast a spell to make it do that. Your hands grip Astarion’s left arm to keep from falling over.

“Easy, easy,” Astarion says softly. You’re not certain of many things right now, but you are certain that you have never heard Astarion use that tone before. One so gentle, so soft. Even when he’d told you of Cazador and the scar that tainted his back.

“I’m okay,” you reply after a moment. Your hands still grip his arm but neither of you seem to mind it. “I’m okay, promise.” The sentiment is just as much for yourself as it is for Astarion.

Astarion only hums in reply. His eyes are flickering over your face. Like he’s taking you in for the first time - or perhaps even the last. His hand on your back is a welcome weight and the feeling of his forearm under your fingertips keeps you grounded. This is real. You are here.

You are alive.

“Holy shit,” you curse. Your eyes widen and your breathing slowly begins to pick up. You’d been so close to dying, to bleeding out in a cursed land so far from home. You’d never thought you’d be one to care so much about something like this, but the fear that you could’ve died is gripping you by the throat, pinning you beneath its clutches.

Astarion notices this. Of course he notices. He notices everything about you. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you shift your weight from foot to foot when unsure about something. How your hands flex when you’re growing frustrated. So of course he notices your breathing picking up, your grip on his arms becoming just slightly tighter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You need to breathe, love.” He says your name softly then, still in that foreign tone of his. The hand at your back comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “Breathe,” his voice is firmer now, one you’re used to from him. Maybe it’s that tone of his that compels you to listen. Maybe it’s his hand cradling your face like you might slip away as soon as he lets you go. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are still swimming with that fear you’d seen before you lost consciousness.

It takes a few moments, but you manage to even out your breathing. Those invisible claws at your neck retract, fading into the shadows of the room. The basement of Moonrise Towers, you realize. That was why the ceiling looked similar to the one upstairs.

Everything returns to you then. The battle, Ketheric, the ax, the amount of blood you’d lost. Astarion’s arrow in Z’rell’s neck.

“You killed her,” you say, as if Astarion had not killed dozens of other enemies during your travels. “Nice aim.”

Astarion visibly deflates as soon as the joke leaves your lips. Your lips quirk into the smallest of smiles despite yourself. But then Astarion retracts his hand from your face, and that small smile falls away slowly. Astarion pretends not to notice it. You pretend like you don’t either; your attention shifts to your right leg, studying the skin exposed by the large tear in your pants. You make a mental note to find new pants.

Your hand trembles slightly as you remove it from Astarion’s arm and bring it down on your leg. Gingerly, you pull the ruined fabric back more and take in where the wound should have been. Instead, your skin looks near perfect. There is a thin scar from where Shadowheart’s healing had knitted the skin together but that is the only indication that your flesh had been torn apart that very same day.

“For a woman who worshiped the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart was rather good at keeping me - us from losing you.”

Your eyes shift to Astarion’s at his slip. You try to not let your face fall when he pulls his arm from beneath your other hand. He leans back in the chair that matches the table you’re laid out on top of, crossing his arms and screwing his face into that expression you’ve grown to recognize as a mask. A flash of hurt floods through you. Selfishly, you wonder how much more you will need to do to prove yourself before Astarion finally, finally trusts you.

“Shadowheart is a good healer,” you say instead of what you want to say. You want to comment on him being scared. You want to point out that he had literally saved your life. You want to tell him that that is not something you just do for someone you’re looking at with sheer indifference. “I think you’re the only one who doubts her.” Your own tone has changed. Despite the hurt in your heart, your tone is sharp.

“I do not doubt her, my dear. I don’t trust her. There is a difference,” Astarion replies with a wave of his hand. You don’t like this game. You hate this game. Why must he insist on playing it?

“Do you trust anyone, Astarion?”

If you were anyone else, Astarion would’ve had a quick retort. Or if you’d said it with anger in your voice. But you’re you and the question comes out with far less frustration than you had wanted it to. Instead, you sound sad. Hurt. And somehow, seeing you look like this is almost as bad as watching you bleed out. He predicts your next words before you say them, but he still winces at them all the same.

“Do you trust me?”

Your question hangs in the air between the two of you. Maybe it’s the lack of blood in your system that makes you say it. You never would have dared to ask something so vulnerable just a few feet from the rest of your companions normally. Maybe it’s the fact that you had almost died. Almost died with so many unsaid words swimming through your mind. Maybe that’s why you say it. Or maybe you’re just tired of not knowing what Astarion is truly thinking and feeling.

“You know I care for you,” Astarion replies after a moment. And you do know - how could you not when you’d seen his fear at the prospect of losing you with your own two eyes. How could you not know that he cared for you when he was so gentle every time he took your blood? How could you not know that he cared for you when he had sat beside you on sleepless nights?

But that was not what your question was.

“That’s not what I asked.” You intend to sound firm still. You fail, though, and you sound every bit as hurt and frustrated as you feel. “Why not?” Why didn’t he trust you? Or better, why did he not trust you enough? He trusted you enough to tell you about Cazador and what his former master had done to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to be honest about his emotions - especially his emotions towards you. Why? Why?

You watch as Astarion shifts in his seat. At first, you think he’s going to get up and walk away from you. Instead, he shifts forward, and his left hand finds yours. Your eyes fall to where your skin meets, they watch as Astarion holds your hand on top of his gently. His own attention is drawn to it, watching carefully as his other hand fidgets with your fingers.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His confession is soft, heartfelt. You might even be able to convince yourself he sounds like he might cry. But when he looks up to meet your eyes again, his crimson eyes are clear of tears. But there is pain there. Pain and torment and that fear.

“I thought you were going to die and I would… And I would have to live with -” He gestures to himself with his hand that had been fidgeting with your fingers. “This.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his words, but you say nothing. You had long since learned that when Astarion was on the verge of opening up, it was best to let him get the words out on his own. Pressuring him had never gotten you anywhere. Well, except for right now. Every other time it had been entirely fruitless.

“You have shown a kindness to me that I am unfamiliar with. With Cazador… His version of kindness was letting me eat instead of starving. But it always had a price. Always,” he can’t look at you anymore, instead looking intently at your hand in his. “Your kindness - I am learning - comes freely.”

“You are waiting for the other boot to drop,” You say, understanding what he is trying to tell you without directly saying it. When he nods, you swallow thickly. Words seem to fail you as you search desperately for the right thing to say. But there are no words that feel good enough.

Astarion also seems to be at a loss for words. Carefully, you place your hand not holding his under his chin and tilt his face upwards, so that your eyes meet once more. Your hand slides to cup his cheek, and your heart swells when you feel him press into your touch gently.

“I am not him.”

Astarion’s eyes close at your words. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except sit there for a long moment. So long that you think he isn’t going to reply. But then he turns his head, and he kisses the palm of your hand. Then where your hand meets your wrist. Then the inside of your wrist. As he places the third kiss to your skin, you let your hand fall away and watch as he picks it up with his free hand.

He doesn’t say it, but you know he understands. He knows you are not Cazador. And you don’t say it, but he knows you understand. You know he is trying. And neither of you say it, but both of you see those three words swimming in each other’s eyes. But you both know they’re there.

“Thank you,” you say after a long minute. “For not letting me die. Not that I expected you to, but…”

But you knew he wouldn’t have saved you a few weeks ago.

“I mean it. Thank you.”

The fear in Astarion’s eyes finally melts away and that smirk of his falls onto his lips. But this was not his mask - no, this was his real joy. His real happiness at your not being dead and at being able to let a joke slip past his lips knowing you didn’t expect anything because of it.

“I can think of a few ways you could show that gratitude,” he says suggestively. A smile of your own spreads across your face, despite the color that floods it, too. Weakly, you shove his hands off of yours and roll your eyes at him. “You are welcome. I’ll save you a thousand times over if it means I get to see your smile once more.”

“Oh, don’t get soft on me now,” You say through your grin. But you’d like nothing more. A soft Astarion meant a healed one, a safe one. If that meant you were subjected to a few sappy lines here and there, you wouldn’t mind it.

“Hard to be soft with you around.”

“Astarion,” You hiss, realizing the joke you’ve walked yourself right into. For a second you debate getting off of the table and smacking him over the head, but when you shift your leg just slightly, that dizziness returns and has you gripping the edge of the table.

Astarion is on his feet within a moment, noticing the change in you as soon as it happens. His hand has returned to your back, steadying you as the room starts to spin again. With your head a little clearer now, you recognize the feeling as similar to what you feel when Astarion drinks from you. With how strongly you’re feeling it… you don’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost.

“Rest. Please,” Astarion says in that soft voice again. And truly, who are you to deny him when he’s being so gentle? You let him coax you onto the table, onto the soft pile of fabrics you hadn’t realized had been under your head until just now. You want to stay conscious, to talk to Astarion more, but as soon as you’ve settled back down, you realize just how tired you are.

When you stir hours later, you’re tucked into your bedroll within your tent. And Astarion is sitting not far from you, reading. You don’t say anything as sleep overtakes you again, but you’re pretty certain you could get used to waking up to the sight of Astarion.

And Astarion’s pretty certain he wouldn’t mind it either.

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randombush3 · 2 months

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you're not sorry to go

ona batlle x reader

summary: ona and you are best friends, but it's a bit more complicated than that

words: 4.5k

notes: this one is based on true events x

also let's ignore the result of my poll because i want the next part to have smut and it wasn't fitting with the vibe of this part

oh and the title is a quote from 'this side of paradise' by f. scott fitzgerald

January, nine years ago.

Nothing about today has been out of the ordinary.

The weekend is starting, winter drags on, and Ona is all set to train later on in the evening, provided you confirm whether or not you are willing to accompany her to the local pitch.

Barcelona B usually allows for Fridays off, but Ona isn’t stupid. No one becomes the greatest footballer of all time by not playing more. School is beginning to bore Ona to death, and she knows that she wants what she always has: to go professional.

“I have a plan,” she tells you confidently, glad you don’t mind sitting on the uneven, grassy sideline as she sets up her cones with determination. You hold the ball between your hands, though Ona is amused by how foreign it looks to you, and you seem to be holding her prized possession hostage so that she spills. “It sounds simple and obvious out loud, but it’s that I am going to play for Barça while you go to the university. You can introduce me to your smart friends so I can meet my wife, and you’ll have all the boys after you anyway so–”

“Ona.” Her monologue has led her eyes to the ground, but your voice makes her head jerk upwards, not needing much authority to get her to look at you. “I’ve actually had a… realisation, of sorts,” you say with a bashful grin, chin jutting out the way it does when you are gearing up to tell her something that no one else will get to know. “Your cousin is really pretty.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.” It’s a nice thing to say, and you are partly aware that Ona’s cousin knows who you are because she doesn’t shut up about you ever, but you can’t help the frustration that begins to bubble up inside of you.

“No, Ona,” you try again, “she’s really pretty. Like, I would kiss her.”

Ona frowns, then. “Don’t be one of those.” She means the girls who experiment, who toe the line of liking girls but don’t, not really. She has been warned about them by her older teammates, the ones who go out for drinks and kiss girls in clubs. The budding footballer really admires them, because their advice is always good and she gets to explore her sexuality without feeling like a creep. No one in Vilassar de Mar cares much that Ona does like girls, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling judged all the same.

You are one of her best friends, but Ona isn’t sure she can forgive you if you become someone like that.

“I’m not! I wouldn’t do that.” Your offence is suspicious, and you have been so caught up in destroying her worries that the ball has been dropped and is now rolling towards Ona’s feet, where it is instinctively flicked upwards and caught. “I wouldn’t, Oni, because I know it’s unfair to you guys.”

“But you want to kiss my cousin? That makes you interested in girls in general too, you know.”

You bite your lip.

“Ona, I think I’m gay.”

The ball is dropped, along with her jaw, and you shift uncomfortably in your seated position, not enjoying how big of a deal she is making this out to be.

People realise that they’re gay all the time! Why should it be any different for you?

“Oh,” is all Ona can manage to breathe out, wondering what to do next. Although your friendship cracks the padlocks of most secrets, there is one that hasn’t ever been shared. One that now means substantially more than it did five minutes ago.

“Say something, please,” you groan in mock annoyance, moving aside your textbooks so that you can grab Ona’s hand and pull her down on top of you. She is much stronger – she trains every day – but something about your skin touching hers injects a surge of patheticness into her well-earned muscles, and she falls, of course she does, because she always falls for you.

…

A year passes.

You kiss Ona’s cousin, as intended, and Ona knows the breakup is going to be rough but nothing prepares her for when it comes.

She’s conflicted, and she’s older now. No longer left behind by her teammates, Ona gets to go out with them when they don’t have football; she gets to talk to the girls about their sex lives, she gets to be involved in it all. She has met Alexia Putellas and been treated like an equal, and she made out with her fourth ever girl last week, this time progressing past tongues and confidently letting her hands roam.

Ona would say that she has learnt a lot since you dropped your nuclear missile, and she has managed to forget the initial hope she had felt. The secret had been near-faded.

Until you are calling her, sending her a text when she doesn’t reach her phone quick enough.

‘Ona, I really need you.’

She hears nothing from her cousin – they were closer when they were younger – and that, she reasons, is why she is by your side in an instant, meeting you at the windy beach you go to when you are sad, hair damp from running and eyes a little wide as she tries to wake herself up.

“She said she can’t do it anymore,” you whisper, voice cracking under the strain your sobs had put on it. “She said that she really likes me but that it’s not enough, and she doesn’t want to break my heart but she knows she has to.”

Ona doesn’t get a chance to respond, because you have flung yourself into her chest before she can think of the right words to say.

Your shoulders shake as you cry, devastating howling joining the whistles of the wind and the thrash of the waves. The sand is unsteady beneath your feet and you stumble, but Ona holds you firmly, as though she has only ever trained to hold you up. Though you feel her biceps, hard and significantly larger than the last time she had held you this way, you are too caught up in your first heartbreak to acknowledge the tiny, tiny spark between you.

As you cry and cry and cry, Ona can’t help but feel a little bitter towards her cousin. Clearly, your affection wasn’t false and, though it was working towards the severance of your friendship, you actually cared quite a lot for her.

Ona chooses to abstain from her jealousy because she is embarrassed that it is possible.

She is there for you the next day, ensuring you have eaten and allowing you to sleep, but the sun soon sets and Ona vows one thing to herself: she will not take advantage of it.

“I’m going home,” you mumble when you wake from your restless nap, rolling over into the empty space in your best friend’s bed. The sheets there are cold and unused. Ona must not have moved a muscle since you fell asleep. “My parents must be a little confused, and we have people coming over for dinner. Thank you for looking after me.”

“No problem.” Ona nods and you awkwardly stand up. “I think I’m going out with the team tonight, but don’t hesitate to call me if… Well, if you feel sad again.”

“It’s going to feel shit with or without you.”

You are trying to distance her, to tell her that she can have fun. It might be an issue that your friendship only seems to work when the two of you discuss your recent conquests or latest flings, but it is not one that either of you wants to address for now.

“I’m just making sure you know I’m here,” she defends indignantly, rolling her eyes at the glimpse of your happier self making its return.

“Are you going to be drunk?” Your question is pointed and you should really cross your arms and tap your foot impatiently to match your tone. “Don’t you have training tomorrow?”

“Maybe, and not tomorrow, no. I’ve been asked to join the first team the day after so they’ve given me an alternative rest day.”

“Ona, if you get drunk, you won’t be there for me at all. You’ll have your tongue down some poor, poor girl’s throat and your phone will be dead.” You laugh from experience, having grown accustomed to how she behaves under the influence. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I swear that alcohol is what fuels your hormones. I’m not going to burden you with my fucking pathetic crying, and, well, you know me, I’ll just find a boy to talk to. I am going to be fine.”

No one in the room is convinced.

You swat the air between you two, telling her to get on with getting ready. “Now, enjoy your night, and tell me all about it tomorrow morning!”

Ona wonders if you are over-compensating by insisting to hear about whoever she has gotten off with, but you are practically flying out the door the minute you have said goodbye to her family and she is stumbling around her room trying to find a clean bra. Life goes on.

If time did not tick on its own, one of you would task yourselves with turning the hands of the clock manually.

You try to recover from how much it fucking kills to have a girl break your heart by reminding yourself of your worth in the best way possible: male attention. They hound you, but you enjoy it. You crave it, most of the time, even if the feelings are never quite believably reciprocated.

It annoys Ona to no end, the way you play with the boys chasing after you. She hates the push and pull, fed-up with the constant complaining from your end. Often, because Ona speaks her mind when she can, she tells you that it’s not fair on the ones who hand their hearts to you only to watch you pierce through them with sharp, I-was-never-a-lesbian nails.

You don’t talk about her cousin. At least, not to Ona because you have been informed by some other friend that blood is thicker than water.

Or maybe it’s because Ona begins to avoid you, begins to spend more time with her teammates, who don’t hide their sexuality and who like the things she likes. (Once, in a hateful frenzy, Ona thinks to herself that the only thing the two of you have in common nowadays is that she likes you and you like you too.)

“What happened to your best friend?” Laia Aleixandri asks thoughtfully once after training. Ona is helping her collect the water bottles the other girls had left lying around on the pitch. There have been more injuries than what’s comfortable within the first team, and maybe some of the reserves have forgotten that they are not yet professionals. “You’ve stopped talking about her.”

“We’ve fallen out,” Ona answers, settling on that because she doesn’t know how else to describe the shift in your relationship.

“Over what?” comes Laia’s obvious sequential question, more a due dalliance than genuine interest. Laia is one of those girls who plays to play and can sometimes be too busy to spend time with the team outside of training. Because of this, she is largely unaware of Ona’s growing reputation within the squad. As Ona has grown up, her confidence has increased. Girls like that, and they are in plentiful supply to her. She no longer needs to be drunk, but something almost certainly occurs if she is.

“She dated my cousin and, I don’t know, the way she acted in the fall-out was horrible. She likes girls, I know she likes girls, but I think she has been scarred and her ego has been bruised. No boy has ever made her cry like that, and I think she’s traumatised. And it’s valid! I understand, completely and totally, but she is acting as though she never had a thing with my cousin and it’s annoying. It’s as if being gay is a joke to her.”

Laia senses that Ona’s not done, and she is correct to think so.

The next wave is this: “Laia, I really don’t agree with it, and it is hurting me. It hurts to see my cousin be messed around by a straight girl, it hurts to see my best friend hate part of herself, and it hurts me because, well, it just– it just does! I can’t explain it.” She can; she doesn’t want to. Her secret is still heavily guarded and it is going to take more than Laia asking about you to get her to confess. “I just want peace for everyone involved,” she says after taking a deep, diplomatic breath.

“Peace,” Laia repeats with a giggle. “Ona, the things I have heard about you are the opposite of ‘peace’. Aita’s been keeping me in the loop, and she says that–”

“Okay, Laia, I don’t need a lecture.”

What probably would have been very helpful for Ona to know is lost to the devastating final blow of her eye-roll as she jogs to the water cooler to return the bottles and head home.

…

The reconciliation of a decade-old friendship is fast and natural. Things do not quite go back to normal, and the two of you are not as close as before, but your group of friends at school breathe out a collective sigh of relief when the ice thaws and Ona starts to turn up to their gatherings instead of the ones held by her beloved blaugranas.

It’s a camping trip.

Their first year of bach has ended, and someone – Ona doesn’t know who – has suggested a camping trip because her grandfather’s brother owns a farm and the farm has a field and the field is far-removed enough for the smell of cigarettes and red-label whiskey to dissolve before reaching the house.

“Are we really going?” Ona asks, making you all laugh as you haul your bags and tents along the tractor path.

“I do think we should’ve gotten in the tractor,” you agree. Ona nods at you, thanking you for your support.

Everyone else says it’s good fitness, and then hurls insults at Ona for the remainder of the trek because she should be the last to complain if she is going to become a professional athlete.

It’s not as far as it seems, and the tents are set up quickly, along with some chairs, a foldable table, and a hefty stash of various bottles of alcohol.

You start smoking the minute someone flashes their lighter, and Ona uses that as a reason to stay on the other side of the small campsite for a good hour or so.

She stays away from you no matter how much you stare, but you watch her all the same.

The boys you talk to are not satisfying. Some may have innocent intentions but the majority don’t, and you know that you are pretty but you are not shallow like that. You don’t even meet the boys half the time unless they corner you at school and demand a slot of your in-person attention.

The boys you talk to explain football and the gym and why they have to play FIFA until the sun rises because it will definitely help Barcelona win on the weekend. They take you for an idiot, and they hardly acknowledge that your best friend (sort of) plays for their darling club so of course you know the rules and the positions. You know that Ona is a defender, and that she is good at it. You don’t want to be patronised and you don’t care about this kind of thing unless it involves Ona.

Therein lies the issue, actually.

You don’t care about much unless it involves Ona. Ona, who sways to the music bursting out from the speakers just as stiffly as she always has, not exactly blessed with dancing talent but not for lack of trying. Ona, who declines alcohol tonight because she is following a summer strength and conditioning programme with the hopes of playing in the first team’s preseason matches. Ona, who looks beautiful. Always.

Smoke billows from your cigarette, right towards the point of your focus, and, suddenly, doe-like eyes are staring back at you with a small, small smirk. She waves, as if to say that she has caught you, and you lean back on the camping chair you are slouched in, pretending to laugh at whatever your friend has just said beside you.

Later, when everyone else is knocked out from the bad quality of the whiskey, snoring comfortably in the other tents, Ona and you kiss. And once you start kissing, you don’t stop.

Ona is good at this, you assume, because she knows exactly what to do. Contrary to popular belief, you are far more active in theory than in practice, and she surprises you a little bit. Or maybe she doesn’t, because it’s Ona and Ona is good at everything.

You strive to match her, and you do by the time you finish school.

Sporadic, non-committal, and in complete disregard for your friendship, the arrangement of hooking up when you feel like it sees you out of Catalonia, with Ona naturally in tow.

Madrid CFF is happy to have her, and you quite enjoy the challenge of the Spanish capital. It’s not Barcelona, it’s not ideal, but change is good and you need space to explore who you are without watchful eyes and nosy gossipers.

Homophobia isn’t quite a thing in your family. Your parents are not radically against gay people. In fact, you’d say they are relatively supportive. However, that doesn’t stop you from feeling some discomfort. You lived through Ona’s struggle to come out, and her parents are ever more care-free than yours.

Madrid is a brand-new place, and word about how you are doing is easily controlled. Updates come from either you or Ona, and that means there is a filter easily applied to all anecdotes.

Your friends know about the sex, more or less. They know, they don’t approve, but they let you guys sort it out yourselves because everyone agrees that that is just how you and Ona are. They won’t understand it and they have given up on trying to.

Both of you make half-hearted efforts to separate the arrangement from your friendship. You don’t talk much afterwards until the other has left the realm of I-am-in-love-with-you. It’s nice to be in Madrid together, but you find different social circles soon enough and then you are reaching out more for sex than friendly activities and… You stop sleeping with each other upon the footballer’s request. She wants to focus on her career, on her success. She tells you over the phone because she cannot bring herself to end whatever occurred over the last two years in person, knowing that she’d take back her decision in a heartbeat. Ona really, really likes football, and she knows that she has to become obsessed with it to get to the top; more obsessed than she is now. How can she do that if you are distracting her?

You’re disappointed, but you respect her wishes.

Girls in Madrid stop seeming as shiny. The world is a bit duller, because although there had been no exclusivity between you and your best friend, there had always been that guarantee that the other would be ready and waiting. Your growing misery makes studying boring, and you find answers for your emotions in a science textbook, desperately running away from the obvious truth. Less sex means that you are unhappier. It’s biology.

It’s not a crush.

Not on Ona.

No.

And it’s certainly not this not-realisation that flies you to Milan the minute a modelling agency inquires about whether you have ever thought of, well, modelling. They scout you someplace random, and your mother claims that she could have helped you start your career earlier if only you’d have been interested.

When you explain to your best friend what you are moving for, she is oddly unsurprised and uncaring. Her reaction is sickening, because you’d have rathered her get an ego boost from having slept with a model than be so fucking apathetic.

“I’m going to Milan, Ona,” you repeat, just in case she has not heard you. “I’m moving. We did the trial shoots last week, and they loved me. They want me to update my social media and work on building up a following, and they said that I should start learning English because I might end up in New York.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” She doesn’t sound like she means it, and you grow annoyed about how she is not even trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Can’t you be happy for me? Or is it only acceptable for you to have dreams?”

“I am happy for you, I just said that.”

“The words left your mouth, but they definitely did not come from your heart.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Ona rolls her eyes and the pent-up sexual tension builds and builds until the bottle it has been shoved into can no longer withstand the pressure. You haven’t argued since you moved to Madrid, which makes no sense considering you literally broke up – even if it absolutely wasn’t dating. Neither of you has processed your broken heart, and you’re pretty sure you are still too traumatised from the first girl you fell in love with to be capable of revisiting those kinds of emotions.

Ona hasn’t had sex in weeks, and it is affecting her performance. She can’t sleep if she has the energy she does, and she can’t get through her workouts because not sleeping makes her lose her appetite and then she does not have the energy to complete them. Her coaches are worried, but they know that she is young and though almost idiotic, they mostly assume that she is repulsed by the idea of playing for a club in Madrid. They get that a lot with the Catalans that come over from La Masia, whose dreams have been delayed because the first team had thought it necessary that they gained more experience elsewhere.

Ona has wanted to shout and scream every minute of every day, and so have you. Therefore, everything explodes.

…

You inhale deeply, exhaling when it feels as though some of the stress has dissipated. This casting is one of the more important ones of the week. It’s odd to be judged on your appearance, to be paid for it, but it has been almost a year since you moved to Milan and you are enjoying yourself.

You don’t miss university, and you don’t miss your parents. Your friends visit you lots, loving the idea of your career, loving the excuse to escape their dreary weekends in where they have always been.

Milan is great. You make friends with a few other models, though they come and go depending on work, and the more experience you get, the more your following count goes up. Brands send you things, nice things, and events start extending invites to lure you into the glamour of the industry.

Milan is great, you tell yourself on repeat.

Milan is great, but it would be better if Ona were here.

Milan is great, but you regret the way you left things and want to take it all back.

Milan is great but–

“Your fitting is tomorrow,” says the assistant, reading off her iPad. You suppress your wandering thoughts, nodding. You need this job, you need the money to pay for a flight. The agency has given you some advancements – an impressive thing, apparently – but not enough to cover the cost of the ticket to New York for the start of Fashion Week. This show will fluff out your experience, and increase your chances of walking at one of the bigger shows.

You’ve been told that you are quite a good model; attractive, funny, with just the right amount of personality to be both a mannequin and an interesting figure.

The lifestyle is different but good, and you realise that you’d never wanted the mundanity of studying and then working and selling your soul to some kind of tall office building. Not everyone gets the concept of living away from home, especially not those from your tight-knit community who think the city is stretching the distance slightly (the train works, you can live with your parents and have a good job – you’ve been told that a few times), but you don’t mind. You can explain it as much as you want and they would still be confused.

You stay in touch, but you don’t stay present.

As your career snowballs over the next two years, you pull away from your home, always on a flight, always busy. You go to LA and Paris and London, and you rent your flat in Milan out as an Airbnb whenever you’re not there. You love the city, you start to think of it as yours, and slowly but surely, everything else fades into the background.

Apart from Ona, of course. Your friends still visit, or you meet up with them if you ever find yourself in Barcelona, and they continue to affirm just how proud they are of you. They talk about her a lot, too; about where she’s playing now, about injuries and fame and representing Spain. They know you are too stubborn to search it up for yourself, but these are the people who have grown up with you: they know you would like to be informed.

When you hear that Ona has moved to Manchester, you don’t quite think your actions through.

You have had enough. You miss her terribly.

Her number has changed, but someone passes it onto you.

You: I saw that you’re playing Arsenal next week. I’ll be in London then. Do you want to get a coffee?

Ona takes her time replying, but that is only because she wants to delay the inevitable.

Her eyes shine and her hair is damp, but the kick-off had been early and you don’t have anything to do today. You meet her in the carpark, picking her up in a black BMW that’s sleek and shiny and 100% not yours. Her laugh is light and free as she knocks on the driver’s window and juts her thumb out, instructing you to swap.

“I’m not getting in a car that you’re driving,” she declares seriously, though you know she has forgiven you because she would not have agreed to meet if she hadn’t. “Come on, I checked on Maps and there’s a place not too far from here that looks nice. And it’s empty, so don’t worry about the paparazzi.”

“The paparazzi are not after me,” you shut down quickly, not wanting her to think you are a bigger deal than what you are. Successful, yes. Famous? Not so much. “One day it’ll be you worrying about them, when you’re all grown up.”

“I’m twenty-one!”

It comes out so whiny and childish that you burst into a fit of giggles. Ona is proud to have made you laugh.

You don’t kiss her, but you’d like to. Then again, maybe it’s better to just be friends.

#woso x reader #woso #woso imagines #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #barca femeni #randombush3 #pretend it's not all build up #but it is

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lendeah · 5 months

Text

Thank you very much, Gale. Goodnight.

Pairing: Gale x Fem!Reader/Tav

Summary:

Upon reaching the Last Light Inn, your party is informed about the room arrangements: you will have to share rooms in pairs. Fate has it that you find yourself paired with a particularly charming wizard. To add a twist, there's only one bed. or Gale and Tav relive the "there was only one bed" trope.

Tags: Fluff and smut. They are so cute.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: NSFW (minors dni), thighs, frottage, heavy petting, mutual masturbation, touch starved Gale.

Note: This was going to be a prompt but it got out of hand. Anyway, a small gift for the Gale girlies (me, I am the Gale girlies). Also, not proofread and english isn't my first language, so be gentle!🫶🏻

"You will have to share rooms in pairs" Yaheira had deadpanned. After our long journey, we finally reached the Last Light Inn. We were hoping for a comfortable bed and some privacy, but our hopes were crushed.

Yaheira didn't seem fazed by our reactions, her expression remaining stoic.

"After all the blood, sweat and tears we poured into saving you lot back there this is the beautiful appreciation we get in return?" Astarion exclaimed dramatically, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Yaheira's cold stare silenced him. "Many soldiers are residing here, sacrificing their own comfort for our cause. Four of them have given up their bedchambers for your stay. You should be grateful," she reprimanded sharply.

The creaky wooden floors and musty smell hinted at the age of the building, but it was a small price to pay for a warm bed and shelter from the danger of the shadows outside. The group stood in a huddle, debating their next move. Wyll's voice rang out confidently "I propose we stay at the camp like we have been doing.".

Karlach's response was immediate and determined: "What, and die in the shadows? No, thank you."

You let out a frustrated sigh, feeling about to faint from weariness. "Guys, we're all exhausted. We should just accept the offer and get some rest. We practically sleep on top of each other every other day anyway."

"Yeah, but not on the same bed." Shadowheart chimed, giving Lae'zel a sly side glance. "And how would we determine who sleeps with whom, anyway?"

Gale, the ever-practical one, interjected: "Perhaps we could employ a method of chance, such as drawing straws, in order to make a resolution?"

So that's how Gale and you end up entering the old dusty and messy bedroom from the last Light Inn. The single bed in the middle seems to be laughing at us.

Gale sighs. "I knew sharing rooms wasn't a good idea. I should just crawl under the bed." He scans the room, eyes coming to rest on the window, with the dark sky looming outside. "I could sleep out there too." He pauses. "The prospect of such a cozy rest is indeed quite alluring. The brisk gusts brushing against my face, as I gaze upwards towards the unobstructed expanse of the starry heavens. Delightful, wouldn't you agree?"

He moves to get out of the door, but you grab his arm, your voice pleading, tinged with desperation from the exhaustion. "Please, Gale, I know it's uncomfortable, but can we just please do this tonight and figure out a better plan tomorrow?"

He swallows, glancing down at your fingers wrapped around his arms. "I-I don't think you realize just how difficult it'll be for me. This bed's too small, and it's too close, and—I can't."

I look at him with my eyes narrowed "If you don't get on the bed in the next five minutes, I am going to use my maze on you. And let me tell you, it hurts"

He looks at me dumbfounded ."...You wouldn't?" You give him a pointed stare. Of course, you don't mean to hurt him, but you are too tired to fight or move for that matter.

He swallows, looking you up and down again. Then he nods and turns toward the bed. "Uh, fine. I guess I'll, uh, get on the bed. However, I cannot guarantee that any peculiar occurrences will not transpire. I mean, not that I expect anything weird to happen. Just, you know, putting it out there. Okay, I'll stop talking now."

Your roll your eyes fondly at his rambling. As Gale awkwardly settles onto the edge of the bed, you quickly change into your undergarments and crawl into the other side. The bed creaks under both of your weight, making Gale flinch. The space feels narrow, forcing you close together. There's barely an inch in between, and any movement sends you brushing up against him. You can feel his body heat radiating off him, a little toasty.

"The dimensions of this bed are rather diminutive," he whispers, staring up at the ceiling under the blanket, unable to make eye contact with you.

"Aren't you sharp" you whisper teasingly.

"It's... it's tiny! How do you expect two fully-grown individuals to successfully sleep in this thing?" He says in an exasperated whisper. It is small, though. Feels like I'm being wrapped in a blanket... Except the blanket is another person.

I sigh in exhasperation, "Gale I am trying to sleep for god's sake!"

Gale shifts uncomfortably, trying to make himself as small as possible on the narrow bed. "I apologize, I didn't mean to disturb your slumber. I just...I can't get comfortable in such confined space."

You let out another sigh, feeling a little bad for him. "I'm sorry. This isn't your fault, but is it possible that we exchange our positions? I don't mean to inconvenience you, but I feel like I can't relax like this. I can sleep on the edge of the bed, and you can sleep in the middle."

You look at him, one second away from grabbing your maze for real. "Gale, there is no middle, every part of this damned bed is the edge!"

Gale, is still fidgeting on his side.

"This is ridiculous," you mutter under your breath.

"I know," he responds quietly. "I'm sorry." He bites his lip, looking up at the ceiling again. "It seems as though you are now stuck with me as your blanket," he says, turning his head in your direction. "I hope this arrangement does not cause any discomfort for you... I would not want to impede upon your sleep."

At that, you can’t help but smile fondly back at him "It could be worse," you remark softly. "I could be stuck with Halsin and his incessant snores."

"Halsin snores?" He blinks in genuine surprise. "I never would have guessed. Is it disruptive? Like a storm tearing through the night?"

You roll your eyes. "You wouldn't know, you sleep like a rock all night." Your words are playful, as you nudge him lightly with your elbow.

"I do not! I am an extremely light sleeper, in fact, the slightest noise can jolt me from my slumber. It's quite a remarkable feat, really." His brow furrows. "Wait, does this imply that you have observed me in my sleep?" He blurts out. He is now on his side too, both of us facing each other.

A soft chuckle escapes from your lips, banishing all thoughts of sleep. "Yeah," you remarked with a playful smile, "I must say, you look really cute when you're sleeping."

The moonlight streaming in through the window cast a gentle glow on Gale's face, making your heart swell with affection. His tousled hair and big brown eyes look even softer in this ambience.

His mouth drops open, his eyebrows now shooting up to his hairline. "I do not look cute while I sleep!"

"So cute, with your cheeks all puffed," you say, reaching out to pinch his cheek playfully.

Gale's face flushes a bright red and he turns away, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"I—I'm not cute when I sleep," he whispers." I am powerful! A talented wizard, a master of magic. I do not need to be "cute". And I'm not!" But as he protests, you can't help but notice the way his cheeks flush and how his hair sticks up in all directions, making him look endearingly disheveled. You can't resist the temptation and reach over to tickle his middle. "Cutie!"

"I am not!" he protests, giggling as you tickle him. "Stop it! You're making me... gahahaha!" His laughter bubbles out of him despite his attempts to hold it in.

You laugh too, enjoying the sound of his laughter. "See? Cute."

"I'm not cute!" he gasps out between laughs. "I'm... hahaha... I'm powerful!" He tries to sit up, but you pin him down with your hand on his chest. "You are cute, Gale. And you're adorable when you laugh," you say, looking into his eyes. He looks at you, his cheeks still flushed with laughter and embarrassment. For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other before Gale clears his throat and lays on his side again.

"Gale?" I call out softly, hoping to break the silence.

"Yes...?"His voice is barely audible.

Smirking mischievously, you decide to push his buttons a little more.

"You know, I have trouble falling asleep unless I'm cuddled up next to someone." you whisper

He flinches. It takes a moment for your request to fully register, and he stares at you with a mixture of shock and confusion.

"...Are you serious? You want me to cuddle you?"

You nod eagerly, a hopeful smile playing on your lips. "Usually it would be Shadowheart offering, but she's not here right now."

"You want—me, to wrap my arms around you, to..."

His eyes narrow. "Am I hearing you right? You're asking me, to hold you?"

You roll my eyes "Yes Gale, that is usually how cuddling works."

Gale looks at you, taken aback by your request. His face flushes with embarrassment as he considers your words. "Um...I-I'm not entirely certain if that would be a prudent course of action," he stammers out, looking away from you.

"Forget it," Frustration wells up inside of you and you let out a low grunt before turning away to face the opposite side of the room.

"Er- I mean, wait, that wasn't a rejection... " He scoots closer, careful not to touch you. You turn yourself, so you are looking at him again. He looks down at you with a nervous expression. "So if I were to, hypothetically speaking, encircle my arms around your form, you wouldn't object?"

For some reason, your heart skips a beat at the thought of his arms around you.

"Well," you respond playfully. "I would probably say something along the lines of 'thank you very much Gale, goodnight'."

He hesitates for a moment before finally inching closer, his arm hovering uncertainly in the air. With a deep breath, he takes the plunge and wraps his arm around you, pulling you gently against his chest. You let out a surprised gasp, not expecting him to actually cuddle you, but the warmth and comfort that radiate from him are welcome in the cold room. You nestle into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear and inhaling the intoxicating combination of an old book's musty pages and his rich cologne, laced with a subtle hint of sweat. You wrap your arms tighter around his soft body, savoring the feeling of being held in his strong embrace.

"Thank you, Gale" you whisper, intertwining your fingers behind his back. "Goodnight."

As the exhaustion of your journey settles over you, you feel the familiar pull of sleep in your body. However, the moment is disturbed by the feeling of something hard poking your stomach. Your eyes snap open and meet Gale's, who stands there frozen with shock and embarrassment.

"I... I'm sorry," he stammers out, mortified. "I didn't mean for that to happen. It's just been so long and you are so close and..."

Your bodies are still pressend, and you try to make sense of everything. Finally, you laugh softly and pat his arm reassuringly. "It's okay, Gale. There's nothing to be embarrassed about." you say reassuringly, though you can feel a blush creeping up your cheeks.

"But... but I didn't mean for this to happen," he repeats, still clearly flustered.

"It's natural," you say calmly, trying to put him at ease. "It happens sometimes when people get close like this."

Gale nods slowly, still looking a little uncertain. He shifts slightly so that the bulge isn't pressing against your body as much anymore. "Thank you for understanding," he says quietly. Your heart swells with affection as you watch him; there is something endearing about his vulnerability in this moment. You have an overwhelming urge to pull him close, to shield him from any harm and take care of him.

A twinge of guilt tugs at your conscience as you watch the flush rise in his cheeks, a direct result of your teasing. You chew on your lip for a moment before an idea strikes you. "Do you... want me to lend a hand?" You offer tentatively, gazing up at him with soft eyes and a gentle tone. His big brown orbs widen in surprise at your unexpected offer. You are also taken aback by your own words, but don't take them back.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. You can see the struggle in his expression as he tries to process what you just said.

"I mean, it's completely up to you," you quickly add, not wanting to pressure him into anything. "I just thought maybe it would help alleviate some of your... discomfort."

He takes a deep breath and looks away from you, clearly embarrassed. Gale hesitates for a moment before nodding slowly. "Okay," his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart races at his acceptance. You were not expecting him to actually agree to your offer, but you are weirdly glad he did. "Okay," you repeat softly, moving your hand down to his waist and pulling him closer. You slowly reach down between both your bodies, gently taking hold of his erection through his pants. Gale gasps softly as your fingers brush against him, sending shivers down his spine. You can feel his breath hitch in anticipation as you start to move your hand up and down. As you gaze up at him, his arms still holding your body, a deep stirring awakens within you. The wizard before you, with his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, is more attractive than you had ever realized. His tanned skin is like velvet against your fingertips, and his long hair falls over his face in gentle waves. Each reaction to your caress, every soft moan that escapes his lips, only adds fuel to the fire growing inside of you. Looking so eager for your touch.

Without hesitation, you lean forward and capture his lips in a gentle kiss. To your surprise, he responds enthusiastically, his hands moving to rest on your face as he pulls you closer to him. You deepen the kiss, your heart racing at the feeling of his warm lips against yours and the subtle tickle of his beard on your cheeks. As you continue to kiss, your hands never stops the gentle strokes on his erection. Gale's moans are becoming louder and more urgent. You can feel his need growing as he grinds against your hand, seeking more friction.

"L-let me touch you" he says between ragged breaths.

You smile at him, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the effect you're having.

"I have a better idea," you say softly, moving your hand away from his erection. You take off your panties, and move on your side in front of him again. Gale lets out a small gasp as you straddle him, feeling the heat of his arousal pressed against your bare thighs.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice thick with both curiosity and lust.

A mischievous grin plays on your lips. "I'm going to give you something even better than my hand to relieve yourself," you purr, swaying your hips in demonstration in a slow, enticing rhythm, that elicits a delicious friction between his cock and the warm heat of your thighs and cunt.

You take one of his hands and guide it to your breast, letting him feel its softness and moaning quietly at the touch. Gale's eyes widen in surprise, gently squeezing it but with his eyes fixed on yours.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, reaching up to touch your face with his free hand.

"Thank you, so are you," you reply, leaning down to capture his lips in another tender kiss. He seems to find your praise very arousing, as his breathing quickens and he thrusts his hips upward, seeking more contact with your body. In response, you arch your back and press your chest against him, savoring the feel of his erection against your core and thighs.

"I want you so much," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I've been dreaming of this moment for so long but I never- I didn’t think-“ he gasps at a particularly good thrust.

You're not sure how to answer, so instead you keep whispering sweet nothings in his ear. "You're an amazing kisser, Gale," you say, "you touch me so good..."

He moans in your mouth, gripping your hips harder as he keeps pounding erratically. Your hands move to his hair, pulling from the strands and eliciting a small whine from his throat. You can feel the hardness of his erection brushing against your wet folds with every movement, and it sends shivers of pleasure down your spine. You let out a moan into his lips as his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing small circles that send sparks of pleasure throughout your body. Feeling his arousal growing even more, you know he won't last much longer, so you move your hips in a faster rhythm, grinding against his cock with more urgency.

Gale lets out a low growl, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he matches your movements. The friction between your bodies is almost unbearable, but in the most delicious way possible. As you continue to move together, your breaths growing heavier and more ragged, you can feel the familiar sensation of your orgasm building within you too. Gale seems to be close as well, as he begins to thrust deeper and harder into your thighs, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. You can hear the slap of skin and the squelching sound of your now wet thighs.

"Oh, gods," he gasps out, feeling himself getting closer and closer to the edge. "I'm gonna..."

His body suddenly tenses up as he comes undone, his hips bucking wildly as he spills himself into the soft skin. For several moments, Gale lies there panting and gasping for breath.

"Oh, gods," he gasps out. "That was...amazing."

You lean and press a gentle kiss to his lips, smiling at him as you do.

"I'm glad it brought you pleasure," you whisper softly, running your fingers through his hair.

Suddenly, his skilled fingers find their way back to your core. He seems to sense that you didn't reach climax with him earlier and now he's determined to make sure you do. His touch is intense as he circles and rubs against your clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You let out a moan, arching your back and grinding against his hand. He watches you with intense desire in his eyes as he continues to pleasure you.

"Gods, you're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice husky with lust. "I am not going to be able to forget this."

His words only fuel your desire even more, and you can feel yourself getting closer to the edge once again. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you ride the waves of pleasure, your hips moving in sync with his fingers.

"I want to make you feel good," Gale says breathlessly, kissing along your neck and collarbone. "Tell me what feels good."

You guide his hand lower, signaling for him to enter you with his fingers. He complies eagerly, sliding two fingers inside of you and curling them just right to hit that perfect spot. You cry out in pleasure, your walls clenching around him. You know you are not going to last long, still sensitive from the previous ministrations.

"Thank the heavens and hells," Gale groans, looking at me like I am a work of art. Setting a steady pace with his fingers, he kisses down your chest and takes one nipple into his mouth. The combination of sensations has you teetering on the edge once again.

"I-I'm close," you manage to say between gasps.

"Come for me," Gale whispers against your skin, increasing the speed and pressure of his movements.

With a final thrust of his fingers and a flick of his tongue against your hardened nipple, you come undone in a powerful climax that leaves you panting and shaking in Gale's arms. He holds onto you tightly as he continues to pleasure you through the aftershocks.

"That was incredible," he murmurs against your skin as he peppers kisses all over your face.

"Yes it was," you reply dreamily, still basking in the afterglow.

Gale pulls out from between your thighs and settles down next to you, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm embrace. As you press your body closer to his, you feel a subtle shift, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you. Instead of voicing it out loud, you turn to him and whisper,

"Thank you very much, Gale. Goodnight"

#bg3 fanfiction #gale x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 tav #gale x tav #gale fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #gale baldurs gate #gale #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #baldurs gate gale

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bloatedandalone04 · 1 year

Text

Vintage T-Shirt

➪the one where you and ethan make out for the first time. (requested)

Warnings: 18+, grinding, making out, needy ethan, lowkey sub ethan, experienced reader, inexperienced ethan

Word Count: 1.3k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

“What did you get for number three?”

When Ethan’s answer never came, you glance up from your book and look over at him, noting the way his eyes were glued to your chest. One corner of your mouth turns upwards and you sit up straighter.

“Hey,” you get his attention by snapping your fingers. “My eyes are up here.”

Ethan’s eyes immediately leave your body and he shakes his head quickly, not noticing the pencil as it fell from his fingers. “No, I wasn’t-I didn’t-” he stuttered and you laughed, making his cheeks heat up and tint pink. “I didn’t mean to stare. You just look really hot in my shirt.”

You look down at his words, glancing at the oversized shirt that covered your upper half. It was a faded green with some old car on it and there were various holes in the fabric, revealing the skin of your stomach. “Really?” You ask and look back up at him.

He hummed, leaning over from his spot at the end of the bed. “C’mere,” he said quietly and you obliged, moving towards him while being unsure of what he wanted. When he attempted to close the distance completely and press his lips to yours, you quickly pulled back and gave him a look of surprise.

“What are you doing?”

The question caught him off guard, clearly, as he also moved to sit up straighter. “Um,” he trailed off, grabbing the pencil that rolled off the open book that was sitting on his lap. “I was just trying to kiss my girlfriend.”

You raise a brow at him and further confuse the poor boy.

“Am I not allowed to do that anymore?”

Laughing, you shake your head and pick up your pen. “Not when we have exams we need to study for,” you state as if it was obvious. And to you it was. You have always taken school seriously and studied more than necessary, something Ethan had never done in his life. When Ethan makes no move to resume studying, you glance up at him and meet his shocked expression. “Come on. There’s time for that later.”

At your promise, Ethan finally took his eyes off you and sloppily wrote down random numbers and words. “I got Magnesium Oxide,” he answered your question from earlier, making you look over your own writing.

You grin when you look back at him. “Me too,”

“Awesome,” he said, tossing the pencil aside with one hand and closing the book with the other. “Now come here.”

Before you could register his words, he was leaning in once again. This time he successfully closed the gap and pressed his lips to yours. You keep your eyes open in surprise as you kiss back for a few seconds before pulling away. “Now that it’s out of your system,” you begin and Ethan groans out, leaning on his elbow as he stares up at you. “Can we get back to this?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Fuck, are you ever determined,” he muttered, making no move sit back up. “Baby, I’m bored.” The last word was elongated, making your eyes roll and your head shake.

“We can kiss all you want when we’re done,”

Ethan sighed, pressing a kiss to the skin of your knee, your decision to wear shorts making his want for you grow even stronger. “Please,” he resorted to begging you to pay attention to him, and he did so shamelessly. “Just for a bit, then we can go back to studying. I promise.”

You chew on your bottom lip, something Ethan withholds a groan at, and twirl the pen between your fingers. “Fuck it,” you give up and give in, dropping the pen onto the book and tossing it off your lap. “If it’ll help you focus.”

Ethan grinned, leaning up to kiss you again. You meet him halfway, bending down rather uncomfortably to connect your lips. You stay like that for only a few seconds before you could already feel a stiff neck coming on.

Gripping his shoulders, you push him back so he is lying down and straddle his lap. His hands grab your waist while yours caress the sides of his face, turning his head just slightly for a better angle. He was letting you take full control of the situation as he never did anything like this before he met you a mere four months ago.

Not wanting to surprise him too much, you swiped your tongue against his upper lip and he had enough knowledge to know what that meant as he parted his lips and encouraged you to deepen the kiss.

Ethan’s hand slid up your body, bunching your shirt up as they did so. With your skin now exposed to him, he couldn’t help but let his fingers trail all over your lower back. Seeing as this was your first time making out together (and his first time in general), it was easy to get caught up in the moment and get carried away.

That was proven true when his hands slid into the back pockets of your shorts and pulled you closer so your body was pressed against his completely. Deciding to tease him a bit, you grind your hips down on his, expecting him to pull away with a heated face and embarrassed eyes.

He did almost the exact opposite.

He whined against your mouth, making your eyes open in surprise and you pulled away to look at him. You didn’t get the chance to see his face as he immediately pressed his lips to your neck, sucking marks into your skin while his hands pulled you even closer when they gripped your waist again. “Ethan,” you trail off, your eyes closing again as he continues to place a multitude of kisses against your skin.

You assumed that this was as far as things would go, so you allowed yourself to get swept away again as his mouth descended to your shoulder, where the shirt had slipped off because it was so big on you.

Rocking your hips against his again, Ethan whimpered against your skin, his hands tightening on your waist as he pulled back. “Fuck, I want you so bad,” he mumbled. You refrained from pulling away and stopping it from going any further, instead letting him have his way with you. Until you heard his next words. “Want you to fuck me.”

Your eyes shot open and you pulled away. Ethan’s lips chased after you but soon gave up when you placed your hands flat against his chest and pushed his body back down. “What?” You ask, trying to get your breath back as you sit up.

Ethan kept his hands on your waist, keeping you from getting off him completely, and whined at the loss of contact from your mouth. “Please,” he begged and whined even further when you shook your head. “Why not?”

“Because,” you answer and lean down to place a final kiss to his lips before moving off of him. “I want our first time to be special. You know, not in the middle of what was supposed to be a study date.”

Ethan sat up and pouted, making you laugh quietly and reach over to wipe at his mouth. His lips were kiss swollen and his eyes were blown wide. You quickly decided it was probably the hottest sight you had ever seen.

You look away from him and clear your throat, picking up the pen again. “Come on,” you say and glance at him when he grumpily grabs the book and his pencil from off the floor.

“Tease,” he muttered as he began writing down more chemical equations.

You shake your head and lean over, placing a chaste kiss to his cheek and effectively wiping off the sour look on his face by doing so.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagines #scream 6 ethan #ethan scream 6 #scream 6 imagines #scream 6 x reader #scream 6

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tkaulitzlvr · 6 months

Note

hii I absolutely adore ur writing and I was wondering if maybe you could write something where like tom attempts to do no nut November but fails and it ends with smut??? Thank youuu💗

CAN’T RESIST - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: wierdly, tom is determined to get through the entire month of november with zero sex, having failed within the first few days for the past five years you have been together. you have other ideas, focused on getting him to crack, becoming desperate yourself.

content: smut

a/n: omg i loveeee this idea thanku sm for the request!! the way u sent this at like the start of november and i’m only just posting it i’m so sorry - i’ve had like the first paragraph written for a couple weeks😭also tom would def fail nnn on november 1st at 00:01am he is not lasting a second…

“oh my god.” tom pants, pulling out of me and climbing off of my limp frame, rolling to lay beside me, his chest heaving up and down as beads of sweat line the soft skin. “don’t know how i’m gonna last a whole month without this schatz.”

his confession doesn’t come as a surprise, in fact it is the exact opposite. tom is the horniest person i have ever met, and usually, he can’t go a day without sex - whether it be something rushed and desperate in public, or a long night of raw passion between the sheets, he can’t live without sex, which is why i am so surprised that he is attempting to go through with this whole ‘no nut november’ bullshit. he won’t last a second, and deep down i think he knows that too. though after the hours that he has spent inside of me, deciding to use the entirety of today - october 31st, the day before he had to give up his uncontrollable desires - fucking me just about anywhere he could, stating that it will ‘make up for the lost time’ and ‘make it a little easier for him’, i don’t see how he could even have the energy to do anything remotely sexual for the next month, his body spent and exhausted as it collapses beside me.

“i can’t believe you’re actually doing this.” a small giggle leaves my lips amidst the shaky breaths, hands pulling the sheets upward and over my naked body before snuggling into his frame, wrapping my arm loosely across his chest. “you know that you won’t even last a day, right?”

“this means no sex for you too you know.” his eyebrow raises, eyes tiredly meeting mine with a hint of mischief, thinking that he has caught me out, though he doesn’t realise that i can handle my needs in other ways, it is him that is totally restricted.

“i don’t need your help to cum baby. cute of you to assume i do.” i smirk, kissing his cheek lazily before rolling out of bed, grabbing my panties from the soft carpet, sensing his eyes burning into me from behind. i pay no attention, flashing him a teasing smile as a reminder that i have won, slowly walking into the bathroom to freshen up, his own steps soon following.

“the fuck do you mean you don’t need my help? i can still help you cum, i just can’t fuck you, which don’t get me wrong is the worst part, but nothing says that i can’t touch you. you know i’ll go insane if i can’t even do that.” he already sounds frustrated, a small smile tugging along my lips at the realisation that he really won’t last two seconds, his desperation embarrassingly clear despite the challenge not even starting yet.

“we’ll see. you just focus on getting yourself through this dumb challenge of yours baby.” i chuckle, that same knowing grin on my face once i palm him through his boxers, his mouth falling open at the sensation. though it doesn’t last long, my hand pulling away firmly to adjust the straps of my bra as i put it back on, leaving tom shocked as i walk away, the realisation that i don’t intend to make this easy for him soon becoming real.

and i stick to my plans - set on making this the most painful month of his life, certain that he will never consider doing this challenge again.

if only he knew what he was getting himself into.

“baby?” my voice sounds throughout the quiet house, loud enough for tom to pick up on it from downstairs. i smile to myself, turning to the mirror and adjusting the strap of the bra that i had bought earlier on, whilst tom had been at practice. the black lace - a colour which tom had never been able to control himself when ever i wore it - tightly cupped my breasts, pushing them upward and highlighting my cleavage in the most tempting way possible. small silver jewels line the lace of my thongs, matching perfectly with my upper half, leaving little to the imagination - though far too much that tom wouldn’t be able to touch, a task which would seem impossible the second he laid his eyes on mine.

“yeah?”

“can you come here for a second?” my question is nothing short of innocent, calm with a slight hint of mischief, though it is clearly not enough for him to pick up on as he shouts a quick ‘sure’, the rhythmic sound of his feet trudging up the stairs signalling that he is close, and clearly not expecting anything like this. but it has been two days- fourty eight hours of no sex, no touching, not even an implicit complaint of needing anything sexual from tom. he has been strangely okay with not fucking me, a task which any other time, would be next to impossible. and i feel it - i feel the difference in his actions. he is restricted, almost holding back just in case his impulses get the better of him. but right now, his mind has no choice, my own doing the thinking for him as he is walking blindly into my carefully calculated trap.

“is everything okay-” his calm question is soon cut off by the short curses that spill from his lips when his eyes make contact with my body, not bothering to hide the way they rake down my figure, drinking in the prominent cleavage, moving downward to my curves, finally landing on the slightly transparent panties.

“jesus christ schatz you’re gonna fucking kill me.” he mutters, walking toward me and attacking his hands to my waist, the pads of his fingers tracing the bare skin of my stomach, one slipping teasingly into my panties. his lips are inches away from my own, about to lean in and seal them in a heated kiss, though i pull away, leaving him dumbfounded.

“you like?” i ask innocently, doing a quick twirl as his eyes quickly glue to my ass, soon looking upward once i face him once again. he is in some sort of trance, mouth hanging open slightly, eyes dark and lustful, though the most noticeable difference is the tent that has formed through his sweatpants, a tinge of satisfaction in my veins at the realisation that my plan has worked. despite this, i keep the naive act up, acting as if i do not notice his change in demeanour. “i bought it from victoria’s secret today. it was on sale, and this was the last one in my size. what do you think?”

“you know what i think.” he states frustratedly, his hands doing the talking as they trail down to my ass, giving the bare flesh a rough squeeze, his lips ghosting over my own. “you’re so sexy schatz, so beautiful.”

his lips attach to my own, an indisputable hunger evident as he kisses me, his free hand latching onto the loose curls that fall to my upper waist, running through them harshly. he groans lowly into my mouth, pressing his hips against my own, silently drawing my attention to the hardness between his thighs.

“look what you’re doing to me baby.” he breathes out, seeming a little angry that i have managed to get to him so easily. though he doesn’t kiss me again, instead he holds back, pressing his forehead against mine whilst his hands continue to rest on my lower back, bringing our bodies closer together. “fuck you’re making this so hard…you know that?”

“you gonna give up already?” my voice is seductive, a torturous mix of sympathetic and lustful, lips moving to rest just below his ear, kissing the skin as his eyes flutter shut, a loud sigh leaving his parted mouth, the grip on my waist simultaneously becoming tighter when my kisses speed up. “if you want me…i’m right here.”

“jesus fucking christ.” he trails off, his eyes now squeezing shut as my lips work against his neck, his mind visibly contemplating on whether he should give in. i am right in front of him, my body a blank canvas, willing to give myself up, to allow myself to be used as he pleases, in exchange for the pathetic remainder of his pride - the two days that he has gone without me going down the drain if he decides to act on the desire that is so clearly eating him up.

his visible indecisiveness isn’t enough for me. i need him to give up, to no longer care about holding back anymore, my hand moving underneath his sweatpants as i run my fingers along his length through his boxers, a loud groan leaving his lips in response. he doesn’t object, instead he seems to lean into my touch, confirmation of his defeat on the tip of his tongue, just about to be uttered, my eyes wide open as i wait for him to finally say it.

a loud buzzing sound resonating from his pocket soon takes his attention, totally destroying the moment as i remove my hand from his pants, his eyes shooting open as he takes his phone, the source of the noise, eyes slightly widening once he sees the who is calling, their name lighting up the screen. bill.

“i have to take this baby. you look beautiful by the way, and, nice try.” he says, shooting me a wink and placing a quick kiss on my lips before adjusting himself, clearing his throat and disappearing out of the room. pretty fucking convenient.

i groan in frustration, collapsing backward onto the bed, completely infuriated at the fact that he was so close to letting go, knowing that right now he could be inside of me if it weren’t for that phone call - quickly realising that this is going to be much harder than i had thought.

my eyes make direct contact with the fresh towel folded neatly on the bathroom counter, scrambling quickly to hide it in the cupboard below as i step out of the shower, hands twisting the tap as the fast flow of water soon stops. i smile to myself when i hear the faint sound of a guitar from our bedroom, signalling that tom is in there, this key to my plan. nine days - nine whole days and he hadn’t cracked, not even close to wanting to fuck, the quick make out sessions and ability to still touch me as he pleases seeming to be sufficient. and whilst his mouth and fingers feel good, i need more, desperate to feel him inside of me, willing to go to any lengths to make him crack.

my fingers rake hurriedly through my freshly washed hair in an attempt to make it look somewhat neater, whilst my body remains completely naked, dripping with water. i take one final look at myself through the fogged up mirror, certain that my plan will work this time, figuring that if it doesn’t, then literally nothing else will.

i open the door that leads directly into our bedroom, acting totally nonchalant and squeezing any last droplets of water from my hair. i walk over to the closet, pretending to scan the shelves for towels, knowing that there aren’t any in here, my entire body on display for him. the gentle strumming of the guitar soon comes to a stop, signalling that i have gotten tom’s attention almost immediately, as i had expected.

“baby have you seen the towels? i can’t find any fresh ones anywhere.” i sigh obliviously, eyes finally landing on his own, only his are fixed on my figure, clearly not paying attention to a word that i am saying. his lips are parted, eyes shifting downward as they slowly take in each inch of skin, nothing at all left to his imagination which, despite his silence, clearly offers him no thoughts deemed holy.

“hm?” he mutters, moving his guitar from where it had been resting in his lap and setting it beside him on the bed. he gets up quickly, walking toward me, the awestruck expression plastered on his face now replaced with one unable to be mistaken for anything else besides pure lust. and when his hands find my waist, running up and down it softly, tongue dipping in and out of his mouth to play with the piercing there whilst his lips are curved into a smirk, i know that i have him right where i want him.

“i said do you know where the towels are. i can’t find any and i need to get dry.” his eyes look everywhere but my face, the only thing i get in response being a subtle nod. instead, his hands move upward, cupping my breasts, whilst his head finally tilts, eyes tearing away from where his hands now roam, lips nearing closer and closer, until they roughly collide with my own.

and i waste no time kissing back, silently thanking his almost non-existent willpower, channelling my pent up sexual frustration into the kiss as my lips mould with his, sighing loudly when his teeth sink into the plush of my bottom lip. he presses himself against me, the tent in his jeans more obvious than ever, one that he won’t be able to ignore as easily as he had done last time - one that i know he has to fix, meaning that this time, he won’t leave me totally desperate. his tongue slips into my mouth when i moan slightly, the kiss more messier than before, totally unrecognisable to the soft ones we had shared up until this moment, because this time, they show that he wants this just as badly as i do.

“jump.” he mutters almost inaudibly against my lips, soon reconnecting them once he breathes in shakily, his hands grabbing the flesh under my thighs once i hoist myself upward, wrapping them around his waist. he guides us toward the bed, using the steady hold he has on my hips to grind me against his, the sensation making it harder for him to kiss back, soon reminding me that this is the first sexual contact he has had in over a week. my back collides harshly with the soft sheets as he climbs above me, reconnecting our lips and slowly spreading my legs apart. he hurriedly scrambles to take his shirt off, throwing the material carelessly across the room, revealing his bare torso.

my hands run down the skin, trailing the muscle of his abs, watching how his eyes fall shut as i move lower and lower, stopping just above the waistband of his jeans. his eyes open when i hesitate, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. he quickly places his hand on top of mine, now guiding my movements as he forces my fingers to slip below the denim, moving below the cotton of his boxers.

“what about your challenge?” i ask, just before my fingers make contact with his dick, eyes widening when he groans in frustration, rolling his eyes at my question.

“fuck the challenge.” he mumbles, forcing my hand to wrap around his dick, his head falling backward the second that the pads of my fingers trace his length, soon running up and down at a slow pace.

“oh jesus christ.” he whispers, eyes half-lidded as he fights to keep them open, desperate to watch my movements, no matter how lethargic they are. because though i have gotten what i wanted, managing to divert his attention from the ridiculous challenge onto me, i want him to be in control, opposed to me doing all the work. and somehow, he seems to read my mind, removing my hand from underneath his pants despite the unmistakable satisfaction etched upon his face. his movements are fast as he removes his jeans, boxers soon following in a messy heap of clothing on the floor.

being naked already works in my favour, allowing tom to line his tip at my entrance, hand pumping his dick lazily a few times before slowly sliding in. as he does so, the tip slips in and out of my folds ever so slightly as i whine in frustration, the stimulation not enough as it reminds me of everything that i have within arms reach, tom holding back only agitating me even more. he picks up on my impatience, my anger buying him time to savour this moment, to tease me just a little more, having me under his mercy just as i had him last time i had gotten close to making him surrender. and i am not willing to have him ripped away again, to be taunted beyond belief, instead willing to beg for him.

“stop playing around and just fuck me.” i sigh through pathetic moans, hands reaching to his neck, pulling it downward so our foreheads our inches apart. and surprisingly, he puts me out of my misery, slowly sliding into me in one smooth snap of his hips. my mouth falls open, a high-pitched moan leaving it when he bottoms out, his tip brushing against my g-spot perfectly, hands raking down his back.

and though my nails dig into the skin with enough force to draw blood, he uses the pain to build up the speed of his thrusts, teeth gritting together as he winces lowly, somewhat used to the feeling, knowing that his pace warranted the strength of my fingers dragging down his back. despite the stinging pain, he maintains a soft smirk, knowing that the soft red marks are nothing more than evidence of the pleasure that only he can provide me with. desperate to feel him just a little closer, my legs hook around his waist, drawing him even deeper inside me, so deep that i swear i can feel him in my stomach.

“you knew what you were doing.” he breathes out between soft groans, so quiet they are almost inaudible. “knew that i’d give in, didn’t you?”

whilst he can speak somewhat coherently, i had lost that ability the second his dick had entered me, any sound that i make an embarrassing mix of moans and whines - nowhere near a properly understandable sentence. though tom wants more, using one hand to grab hold of my cheeks firmly, though not enough to hurt me, forcing my eyes to make contact with his own, prompting me to answer his question.

“mhm…” i manage to mumble, eyes rolling to the back of my head when his tip repeatedly hits the soft spot inside of me, soft curses now pouring from tom’s lips as i clench around him, knowing the reaction that such movements usually encourage out of him, recognising that this time is no different.

“fuck- it’s worth it though schatz. you feel so good, taking me so well.” his words of encouragement are all i need to attach my lips to his neck, placing messy, open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin, noticing the way his lips part, quiet and almost restricted moans escaping them. it isn’t enough for me, feeling somewhat frustrated that he holds back, wanting nothing more for him to cry out in pleasure as i already am, craving for him to mirror my own ecstasy.

“i wanna hear you…” i whine quietly, clenching around him as he curses once again before mumbling a low ‘okay baby’, his lips falling open as rough moans now sound from the back of his throat, getting louder when he drills into me at a certain angle, far deeper than he has ever been before.

and when that familiar knot begins to build within my stomach, i don’t need to ask tom if he is close to, his dick beginning to twitch faintly inside of me. his teeth sink into his bottom lip, thrusts becoming slow and deep, no longer rough and fast as they had been moments ago. now i can really feel him, every inch of his dick slowly pushing inside of me, stopping for a second when he bottoms out, soft grunts leaving his lips as quiet moans escape my own, feeling him closer than i ever had before.

“gonna cum baby. do it with me, yeah?” he whispers, head dipping downward to place messy kisses across my face, starting at my forehead, trailing downward to my nose and cheeks, before ending at my lips, capturing them in yet another rough kiss, nothing like the slow and deep movements of his hips as he continues to push in and out of me.

when his lips falter, no longer able to kiss me with such force as they had when they had initiated it, i know that he can’t hold on anymore, his head tilting backward as a loud moan escapes his mouth, followed with hot spurts of cum that coat my walls, his hips rocking back and forth tiredly as he releases. the pressure of his own climax soon triggers my own, his name spilling from my lips over and over again, high off the feeling of his dick as it continues to thrust into me, fucking his seed deeper, riding both our highs.

his hold on my waist becomes softer, slight red marks in place of his fingers, our breathing loud and heavy as it envelops the room, thick with the smell of sex. he pulls out of me, sighing loudly as a mix of our juices seeps out, his hands lazily grabbing some tissue to wipe it away.

tiredly, he moves upward, his body collapsing on top of me, lips pecking my own a few times. my own arms wrap around his back, fingers tracing the skin softly in an attempt to ease the stinging pain my nails had left whilst his own hands run along my trembling frame, lips pressing sweet kisses into my hair.

“you okay?” his voice is hoarse as he speaks, attempting to appear as unbothered as possible, though i can tell he is totally worn out. i manage a quick ‘mhm’, lips turning to kiss just above his shoulder, noticing him smile weakly against me.

“are you upset about the challenge?” i ask tiredly, eyes on the verge of closing, ears barely picking up the soft chuckle that leaves his lips, his fingers squeezing the flesh of my hips as he kisses me softly, shaking his head.

“fuck the challenge.” he stretches out, bringing my body closer to his. “sex is just too good, plus it’s hard when my girlfriend walks around naked in front of me, what kind of guy ignores that shit? i don’t care if someone paid me, i’d never pass up on a chance like that. especially when you look this good.”

“you’re so romantic.” i scoff sarcastically, shaking my head at his impulsiveness, feeling him smile against me, his head lifting up to look into my eyes.

“what, i’m not allowed to say you’re beautiful?” he smirks, hands trailing my body once again, eyes visibly lighting up with that same look i had seen just minutes ago, knowing exactly what it means. “i mean, i could show you that you’re beautiful instead, if you want me to…”

though the grin on his face says otherwise, i know that he is serious about it, his actions proving so if my instincts weren’t enough. his hands trail upward knowingly, fingers running across my breasts as his lips makes content with them, placing harsh kisses onto the skin, his teeth digging in every few seconds. my head falls backward, back arching to allow him better access, silently accepting his proposal. he stops momentarily, looking into my eyes.

“we’ve got nine days of lost time to make up for schatz. i think now seems like a good time to start, don’t you?”

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tomkaulitz #tokiohotel #tom kaulitz x reader #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #kaulitz #tom kaulitz angst #bill kaulitz

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luvxkdrama · 9 months

Text

— promises

pairing : hong woojin x reader

warnings : mentions of wounds and blood

word count : 1.4k

summary : you stitch him up after yet another fight where his life could’ve been taken away and you confront him about it

—

The sound of the door unlocking made you snap to attention from your hours on the couch. You'd been eagerly awaiting any news from your boyfriend —Hong Woojin — who had been away for yet another mission with Gunwoo.

You immediately rushed towards the door and winced at the sight of Woojin covered in bloodstains. After exchanging a few glances with him and without saying anything, you made your way towards the bathroom in order to grab the first aid kit and clean his wounds as much as you could.

“Babe…” Woojin started but you cut him off by asking him to take his shirt off.

Even though he had a few wounds here and there, they thankfully weren’t deep so you could easily put a bandage on them to make them heal properly.

While you were cleaning up the small cut on his left cheek, you could feel Woojin’s strong gaze on your face, pleading you to talk to him.

“You promised you won’t put your life in danger again.” You stated truthfully, reminding him of his words from not even a week ago.

“Babe, I can’t leave Gunwoo alone in this and you know that. We just have to get rid of Myeonggil.” He sighed, leaning his head back on the couches’ arm.

“I’m just worried about you, Woo.” You put the first aid kit down and sat down on the couch next to him. “I can’t handle seeing you like this, always beaten up and leaving without giving me the certainty you will come back.” You said, feeling your heart ache every time he comes back home with his body filled with wounds and bruises.

Woojin carefully listened to your words, understanding that the situation was also taking a tool on you. As much as he hated to see you worried, he couldn’t give up now that he and Gunwoo were so close to put an end to this mess.

“I promise that once we’re finished with this affair, we’ll take a long vacation where I’ll be all yours.” He gently caressed your cheek with his thumb and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m holding you to your word.” You sighed, the corner of your lips unconsciously turning upwards at the sight of your boyfriend’s bright smile.

The warmth of Woojin's lips connecting to yours momentarily eased your worries, but the concern still lingered in the back of your mind. You knew that their mission against Myeonggil was far from over, and it meant more danger for Woojin and Gunwoo. However, you also knew you couldn't change Woojin's mind once his determination was set.

After the tender moment, Woojin rose from the couch and headed towards the kitchen. “I will quickly eat something and we can go to sleep, I can see you’re as exhausted as I am.” he said with a weak grin.

“Maybe you should take a shower, Woojin,” you suggested. “It might help you relax, I can get you some clean clothes and make you something to eat while you’re there.” You suggested.

“Only if you join me.” He playfully wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned in to land a soft kiss on your neck.

You chuckled at his words and playfully slapped his shoulder, turning him around and gently pushing him towards the bathroom. Woojin groaned at your behaviour but raised his hands in defeat and entered the bathroom, leaving you to fetch a fresh set of clothes for him.

When Woojin returned from his shower, he looked a bit more refreshed. He changed into the clean clothes you had prepared and joined you on the table.

You put the food on the table and smiled at how eagerly Woojin was eating and complimenting your cooking skills.

You took a deep breath and decided it was time to address him something one last time. “Woojin, I know you can't back out of this mission and I won’t annoy you about it again, but promise me you'll be extra cautious and that you’ll come back home to me no matter what. I can't bear the thought of losing you.” You fidgeted nervously with the promise ring that Woojin has given you at your five months relationship anniversary.

Your boyfriend placed his hand over yours on the table, his thumb gently stroking the palm of your hand and his eyes filled with a mixture of love and determination. “I promise, Y/N. I'll do everything in my power to come back to you in one piece. And then, we'll have that vacation we talked about. Just you and me, no more danger.” He smiled, winking at you reassuringly.

You smiled through your worry, leaning in to kiss him before letting him enjoy the rest of the food.

The night wore on, and you and Woojin talked about the mission, the challenges he faced with Gunwoo, and your plans for the future. Despite the danger that loomed over him, you cherished these moments together, knowing that each one was precious.

As the first light of dawn peeked through the curtains, Woojin's exhaustion finally got the best of him and you both decided it was time to head towards the bedroom.

Although Woojin was tired, he couldn’t help but playfully pick you up and lead you towards the bed where he gently laid you down, before falling down next to you.

He breathed out in pleasure once the soft bedsheets came in contact with his skin, something he very much needed after a hard and painful day.

Woojin turned on his side to snuggle up to your back, holding you close to him to make sure you felt safe and loved. (And because, he just couldn’t fall asleep without feeling you by his side.)

“Goodnight, love.” He whispered and planted one last, gentle kiss in the crook of your neck before drifting off to the well-deserved sleep.

#bloodhounds #hong woojin #hong woojin x reader #bloodhounds x reader #woojin x reader #kim gunwoo #gunwoo x reader #kdrama x reader #fluff #angst #woo do hwan #lee sangyi

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yesimwriting · 2 months

Note

When best friend Felix and reader kiss (not a kiss on the cheek or forehead) does reader ever initiate it? I kind of notices it usually Felix who does.

yes!! i just see felix as so touchy he'd kiss reader more out of instinct, but reader for sure kisses felix

----

The washcloth is pressed against you temple. The fabric is dragged downwards, creating a damp trail from the spot above your left eyebrow to your chin.

Felix's expression pinches in concentration. He pulls the washcloth away from your face to examine the other side. His frown tells you all you need to know. "It's not coming off, is it?"

His lips part, and you mentally prepare yourself for the instinctual, teasing protests you're used to. "...Kind of," he admits slowly, his other hand moving to hold your chin. Felix is careful as he angles your head so that it's easier to examine his handiwork. "It's smudged."

He refocuses, the unmarked part of the towel finding a place near your jaw. You have to give him credit for even thinking of the makeup there. "Told you, it's not as quick and easy as it looks."

"And I told you," Felix counters, towel dipping beneath your chin, "I've got this."

There's such a heavy sense of determination in his voice, it's hard to not give into the fit of giggles attempting to crawl its way up your throat. This started as a joke, Felix insisting you could sit with him for five more minutes and you arguing that you needed to wash product off your face before the post-party sleepiness could kick in.

You grin, a small laugh slipping past your lips. Felix pauses, the cloth temporarily leaving your skin. "Lovie."

Another laugh. "What?"

"Hold still."

You can't remember a time in which washing your face relied so extensively on total stillness. Instead of pointing this out, you smile. "I am."

Felix frowns, fixing you with a look of such reprimanding disbelief you have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing again. You extend your arms, hands settling against his arms. "See?" Things feel a little less funny as his eyes meet yours. You swallow, chin raising a fraction of an inch. "Perfectly still."

He presses his lips lips together. There's something about his expression that you're not fully grasping. The awareness that you're missing something doesn't feel right. You focus on the set of his brow, on the look behind his eyes, on the way that his head angles itself forward so that he somehow feels even closer.

He moves slowly, lifting the rag to dab at the space beneath your eye. The unflinching care in his touch makes everything feel a little hazy. "Look up." It's instinct to listen. Felix drags the washcloth near your waterline. He's careful, taking his time in removing any remaining makeup. "Okay, y'can look down again."

Your eyes begin to flit downwards, but before they can land on something neutral, your eyes lock on Felix again. His eyebrows are still drawn together, his lips are now set in what almost feels like a pout. "Lex?"

The washcloth is dabbed against your forehead. "Hm?"

You're not sure where the overwhelming urge to be closer to him is coming from, you just know you're in no place to fight against it. "I'm going to move."

Instead of asking for a clarification or jokingly complaining about your warning, he moves the washcloth away from your skin. Felix rests his forearm against your shoulder, patiently waiting for you to follow through.

Before you can overthink, you shift onto your toes, leaning upwards until your lips are against his. Felix reciprocates immediately, his arm moving to press against your back. His free hand finds a place against the back of your head. You link your fingers behind his neck.

You drag your tongue against his bottom lip, savoring the faint taste of alcohol blending with something familiar and sweet. The result of the way drinking amplifies his hard candy addiction.

Felix leans closer, his weight pressing against you. It's instinct to take a partial step back to accommodate him. Your side hits something firm. The bathroom counter. His hands find your side, helping you lift yourself onto the counter. He takes a step forward, slotting himself between your legs.

When the need for air becomes dizzying, you pull back. Felix doesn't let you get far, turning his head to brush his lips against the corner of your mouth and then your cheek. Again and again until he eventually pulls away enough to rest his forehead against yours.

For a moment, there's only the sound of uneven breathing, and then Felix straightens enough to look at you. "What was--what was that for?"

You don't have an answer. At the very least, you don't have a coherent one. He was there and making you happy in that unjustifiably giddy way he does and somehow still so pretty beneath the harsh fluorescents of a dorm room bathroom. You wanted to, and knowing that Felix would reciprocate turned the offhanded desire into a need.

You shrug, ignoring the heat making its way up your neck. "You're very good at makeup removal."

Felix's hand finds your knee, thumb gently brushing against your skin. "Really? I've never done this before." His hand shifts upwards slightly, fingers squeezing the start of your thigh. "Must be a natural talent."

It'd be easy to point out the fact that he managed to lose the washcloth and that you're sure you look more like a raccoon than someone without makeup, but you're too content to bring those things up. You smile, settling on an only somewhat sarcastic, "Clearly."

His eyes narrow, a grin desperately trying to be anything else tugging at his lips. "No need for that tone."

"What?" Your voice comes out at a suspicious pitch. "You're doing a good job..." You trail off beneath Felix's steady stare. "...And I have to wash my face after anyway, so as long you're having fun."

Felix halfheartedly glares. "I'm doing all of it."

His resolve makes you laugh. Maybe he's tipsier than you thought. "You're going to wash my face?"

"Don't laugh." The sentence is followed by a huff of air that comes dangerously close to violating his own instructions.

You press your lips together in an attempt to seem serious, even here's a good chance Felix can see right through that. "Sorry." You decide, then, that you don't mind the thought of Felix attempting to complete your skin care routine for you. It's worth it. "You can wash my face."

Felix watches you skeptically, unaccustomed to your lack of arguing. "Okay," he says, straightening slightly, "Good."

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny @lilyrachelcassidy @khxna @imbabycowboy

#bestfriend!felix #bestfriend!felix x reader #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #felix catton #jacob elordi x reader #jacob elordi

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agoodroughandtumble · 3 months

Text

Roronoa Zoro x Reader - I Didn't Need Saving Part 2

Status: Incomplete Summary: Reader is hurt after battling with the marines Warnings: 18+. Language, injury, implied violence (in keeping with the show)

It wasn’t Zoro’s proudest moment, walking away from you. Not when you were injured, not when you were looking at him so desperately. Not when the entire situation was a direct consequence of his actions. You had saved his life, thrown him away from a danger his arrogance hadn’t even registered. And now you were beaten and broken all because of the misguided assumption that somehow his life was more precious than your own.

Fuck he hated you. Hated that you could so casually throw away everything, hated that you were so stupid enough to think that it would be possible for him to carry on without you.

He didn’t know what love was but if it was self-loathing and guilt at your expense he had that in abundance. If it was the way your smile made his heart leap, the overwhelming urge to be close to you, to be good enough for you, to rip open his chest and let you make yourself a home there, well, then he was fucked beyond all reprieve.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was the worst thing. Either way, he wasn’t going to risk being alone with you again. At least he could be certain of that.

Two days later he was stood outside your door. Pacing. Nami had said you had been asking for him. That meant one of two things: Nami was tired of covering his shifts so was passing on the buck, or you actually wanted to see him. Which, after how he left you, was not something he was particularly looking forward to. Unfortunately, you were a request he was fundamentally unable to refuse – even if he had actually wanted to.

Hence his pacing.

The irony was not lost on Zoro. The Demon Pirate Hunter was scared of a girl with a hole in her side. But scared of what he wasn’t quite sure. Scared you would yell at him, or be disappointed, angry, spit venom at him again. But what if you didn’t. What if he allowed himself to consider the possibility that you felt a fraction of what he felt? What if you had saved his life because it was him and not because he was a crew member and you were clearly an idiot with a death wish.

Guilt prickled its way up his spine. He was, at least, going to have to acknowledge you at some point. He knocked on the door frame – the door being open in case of an emergency, but he had deliberately been pacing out of sight.

No answer.

Fine. Good. He could leave now – tell Nami he tried but you weren’t up for seeing anyone.

He made it two steps.

Fuck.

Zoro turned around and walked into the room with the determination that only someone who nearly lost it all could have. He’d come this far.

“Come to kill me then?” There was humour in your voice, albeit laced with sarcasm.

He let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you weren’t that pissed off with him. “Only if you pull a stunt like that again.”

You shuffled under the covers and he couldn’t help but be grateful at the ease with which you seemed to move. “I’m promising nothing.”

“Yes you are.”

His sudden serious tone caught you off guard and you hoisted yourself onto your elbows, and although Zoro would rather you didn’t exert yourself he was glad to see you moving without wincing.

You looked at him expectantly, “What am I promising?”

He slumped onto the chair Nami had placed at your bedside and rested his swords against the wall by the headboard next to you. “You’re promising not to leave me.”

You rolled your eyes. The nonchalance with which he spoke failing to convey his meaning until it was too late. “I didn’t leave y- … oh.”

Once again, Zoro felt the familiar rising of guilt starting at the base of his spine, slowly traversing upwards as he watched a thousand expressions cross your face, felt the weight of a thousand unspoken promises embedded in his shoulders. When he looked down at you it was nigh on impossible to say anything that wasn’t his hopeful heart trying to meet yours. He cast his gaze very firmly on anything, everything that was decidedly not you. Anything but you. “A swordsman is no swordsman if he can’t protect his friends.”

Your face dropped only a fraction of a second sooner than his heart. “Well I’m glad we’re friends.”

Zoro searched for some sarcasm only to be met with something else. It was a rare shade on you – embarrassment - and one he didn’t much care for. He sighed. Somehow he had already managed to make things worse. Not for the first time, he wished he could be someone else for you. Someone better. Someone like Luffy with his endless optimism to put a smile on your face, someone like Usopp to take you on an adventure with his fantastical tales. Hell, even someone like that shitty cook who never had any inhibitions when professing his undying love to whichever woman was the latest to catch his eye. But he was Zoro. And apparently that meant all he was good for was failing you.

Failure was not something he was accustomed to. His whole life was built around striving for perfection – whether that was through swordsmanship or being first mate. Failure seeped into his bones, became an obsession, clawing at him. And here you were, unbeknownst and unapologetic. Seeped into his bones. Carving your way into his soul as if it was the easiest thing in the world, as if you had belonged there all along. But you were friends. Because Zoro had failed. Again.

He really should have brought some sake with him. The look of uncertainty, the way you pulled the covers to try to hide as much as yourself as possible, make yourself smaller would be much easier to swallow washed down with alcohol.

He wanted to reach a hand out, rub a reassuring thumb across your cheek. To tell you he was being an arsehole – to somehow articulate that the feeling of hope of reciprocation your actions had arisen in him could in no way compare to the fear of losing you. He wanted to tell you he wasn’t worthy of such an act – and he was so, so angry that you would rather he lost his soul, his heart, his only chance at true happiness over his life. He could happily, willingly, die a thousand deaths if you lived. But if you died. If you left him devoid of all hope and salvation, he could certainly learn how to hate you then.

“I should go.” It was almost a question but one he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Zoro watched as you shuffled further into the covers – protecting yourself. He should be protecting you. He should be holding you in his arms. He should be doing everything and more. But he wasn’t. He was walking out of the door before you could respond. He was failing.

#opla #one piece live action #one piece #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n

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sourtomatola · 1 month

Text

Vampire Equinox drabble for the Eclipse SIMP's

Based off this pic I drew

Your back hit the silk red sheets, almost knocking the wind out of you. You would have tired to get up if you weren’t currently gawking at the towering behemoth that is an Animatronic Vampire staring down at you. He effortlessly held one of your hands against the sheet, your entire hand fitting in his upper palm, large fingers stretching like a spider sitting comfortably.

"Well well, breakfast in bed? How delightful~" He grinned down at you. His glowing yellow eyes washed over you as his free hand reached for the clasp on his cloak. His starry cape slipped into his free hand as he set it elegantly aside and placed a knee on the bed.

You were frozen in fear, but upon feeling the bed being weighed down near your legs, you began to squirm and look away for an escape. You grabbed his wrist and pulled at it, determined to get away from this creature with glistening yellow fangs. You scooted your legs away from him, thinking you could possibly twist yourself away. Your desperation growing as you felt more and more trapped under this creature.

“Hmm?” He watched you for a second in amusement, simply keeping your hand held in place. It was only when you tried to roll into a sitting up position that he suddenly leaned in, his face suddenly so close to yours. The glow of his yellow eyes made you feel like a deer in the headlights. You slowly backed away, but your heart jumped into your throat at the realization that he followed you perfectly, making it near impossibly to make space between you two.

Pressing into the sheets now, you could only quiver in place under the Vampire Lord’s sights.

“P…please…” The single word escaped your breathless lips.

“No need to be shy Little Robin, I am not making any judgements on you.” He assured, as if that was really on your mind right now!

He started to lean closer, but you pressed into the mattress harder, hoping it would swallow you up and save you. His knee nudged between yours, making you feel vulnerable for but a moment before you realized you could use it. You put your knee against his thigh and used it to scoot yourself farther away from his face. You slid easily on the silk sheets, but not far.

“Your amount of fighting is admirable, but unneeded. The game is over.” He said with frustrating patience. Frustrating to you, since now you’re starting to reach the point where you wished he would just get it over with and stop playing with you! He was always like this though, seemed to love to play with his food.

His knees now fully supported himself on the bed, and his free hand placed next to your head. You saw him come closer and tried to press away again, but his free hand slid under your neck and pulled your head upwards to him. Your eyes forced to look into his, but there was no hypnotism, no mercy. He wanted you conscious as he took what he wanted.

His eyes then glanced down to your neck before leaning down. You struggled in one last ditch effort to get away, to convince him not to hurt you again. His larger body kept you from being able to kick or fight much farther than weak struggles and whimpering.

You felt his fangs ghost over your skin, as if trying to find the most ample spot to bite. He was teasing you. Still, after all of it, he was teasing you again!

Finally, his four fangs plunged into your flesh, making you cry out and tense up under the pain. You knew your fighting was just making your blood rush faster, and make it easier for him to drink, but there was not much more you could do under this animatronic horror. You were powerless against this supernatural machine.

You felt your head starting to get light, still cradled in his metal fingers. “Too…too much!!” You gasped, realizing your vision was trying to grow dark from blood loss.

He shushed you softly and left a gentle kiss to your neck before going back to your seeping wound. Your free hand reached around him, grasping desperately at his back in an attempt to hit or pull him off of you. He continued to drain you, unbothered.

As your vison started to close in faster, you could hear his softly chuckle. “Tenacious little darling…I shall savor you.”

Vampire Equinox Eclipse by @miwachan2

#I stared ta my own picture until I knew it needed a fic to go with it XD #vampire Eclipse #Vampiric Equinox #vampire drabble #my fic #Sour Keysmash!#This was fun #I should drabble more #FOR THE SIMPS #fnaf eclipse #sugestive #non-con elements #vampire bites

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ghost-bxrd · 2 months

Note

Keep going I want everything *holds up a note pad* give me angst

*slides glasses up higher*

Okay, you asked for it! Get ready for some really cracky ship content on the side of more Court Family au!

Bruce grows up learning high society and Court etiquette mostly from Alfred and some trustworthy Court members and quickly decides that some things need to change. (He may be morally flexible here but he still wants to change things for the better). He still puts up the Brucie mask in front of High Society, but now he does it with the goal to gather blackmail material from as many people as possible and indebt them to him for potential use down the line.

Bruce becomes Voice of the Court when he turns eighteen and immediately starts uprooting several of the more corrupt members of the Court, instating new people into the ranks that will benefit the city as a whole. He makes some enemies this way, naturally. And soon after the Cout’s Talon is tasked with Bruce’s safety at all times.

Bruce and Cobb do NOT get along. At all. Mostly because Bruce is determined to make Talon’s life even harder by trying to slip away from his sight every other second. It’s infuriating. Cobb considers literally sitting on the guy after only one week. (“Try bailing on me now, o’ honorable Voice”)

Bruce spends several months strategically implementing new laws and projects that will benefit the Court AND Gotham in the long run, making it a point to go to the most important meetings in person, even if they happen to be between criminals. (Cobb was so, SO tempted to let Black Mask shoot the idiot that day.)

Within two years human trafficking is close to nonexistent in Gotham City, lethal crime is down a good ten percent (which isn’t much in the grand scheme of things but for Gotham it’s almost biblical) and whispers of “Batman” are omnipresent. (Cobb considers asking if slapping his Voice would be considered treason but… it probably would. Even though Bruce really deserves it with such a stupid cover name. Owls HUNT bats… couldn’t he have chosen Owlman?)

(“What’s your name, anyway?” Bruce asks one day, flipping his tie into a neat Windsor knot that’s just passable enough to not be considered sloppy. “I am the Talon of the Court, my Voice.” Bruce hums, one elegant eyebrow raising in the stark reflection of the mirror, “No, your real name.” “It’s whatever you wish it to be, my Voice.” “You know what I mean, Talon. If you do not wish to answer, then I will not make you. But do not play me for a fool.” “… Cobb. William Cobb.” Bruce blinks, the left corner of his mouth tugging upwards, “Will… I see.”)

The first time a traitor nearly succeeds in killing Bruce is when he once again slips away from the Talon’s sight, and while Bruce is still well trained he’s no match against five people with guns, sedatives, and a mission. Cobb finds them right as they’re about to shoot Bruce in the head and goes absolutely feral. (He hates Bruce, he hates Bruce, he hates Bruce, he hates-)

Bruce wakes up back at the manor with a pissed off Talon standing in the corner of the room, keeping watch and refusing to talk to him anymore beyond what he’s ordered to. Sneaking away from the Talon after this becomes virtually impossible for Bruce.

Cobb keeps giving Bruce the cold shoulder for months to the point where Bruce becomes genuinely concerned, but the Court scientists assure him that their Talon is running at a 100% capacity. (That’s not what I’m asking, Bruce wants to scream. I want to know if he’s okay.)

(Cobb wasn’t worried, he wasn’t. He watched countless humans die in so much worse ways already. Inflicted worse himself. It’s just because he almost failed his mission and allowed the Voice to be killed that he’s so unnerved now. That must be it. That’s all it is. That’s all.)

Dick’s parents fall and Bruce is up and out of his seat the next second, pushing through the masses until he can clutch at the child and cover his eyes, shielding him from the view of his parents’ dead bodies. Social Services never get to put their hands on Dick Grayson.

The Court is ecstatic. Cobb is ecstatic. From tragedy, opportunity blooms like a rose with poisonous thorns, and the Talon stands ready to take on his apprentice as the Court broaches the subject with Bruce.

But Bruce (idiotic, stupid, bleeding-heart Bruce) refuses point blank. (“He’s a child,” Bruce says. Like that means anything. They were all children, once. He’ll grow out of it quickly enough. And the boy will make an excellent Talon, perhaps even surpass Cobb himself, with time and training. Maybe more capable at keeping the Voice safe than him, too. But then Bruce says, “He’s my child. My ward. And any of you who think to go against me will answer to the Talon and myself.” And, oh, damn you, Bruce. Damn you. But what else is Cobb to do but lift his head and stare down the Voice’s subject in silent challenge, daring them to object? Bruce is his Voice. Talon will never not side with the Court’s voice. (He pointedly does not think of the time he slit another Voice’s throat. He does not.))

Dick is anger and fury and sunshine and it drives Cobb crazy. The raw potential that is lost with Bruce’s refusal to allow him to train the boy… he cannot stand it. There will be another Talon before long (Cobb is not bitter about it, he is not) and with Dick the protection of the Voice would have at least stayed within the line of Cobb’s blood, but now… now Cobb can’t be sure the new Talon will take their task as seriously as the boy would have.

Dick is the one to approach Cobb for training before he ever goes to Bruce

Bruce nearly has a heart attack the first time he finds Dick training with the Talon, ripping the boy away and screaming at Cobb for nearly an hour about “orders” and “NOT a Talon” and many other things Dick doesn’t really get

Bruce asks Talon to bring him Zucco’s head and Cobb will forever deny the vindictive pleasure he felt when watching the smarmy man squirm and beg for his life (he didn’t get fond of Dick. Cobb doesn’t do fond. He hates him almost as much as he hates Bruce, thank you and good day.)

… okay I just realized none of this really qualifies as angst but— somehow this post got away from me. I’m sorry 😭😭😭 feel free to ask for more specific angst content tho? 🙏

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dixonsgirl93 · 3 months

Text

Verge

Ghost x Reader

~Keep in mind I have no idea how anything in the military actually works but this is just for fun so please ignore any errors. Thank you

It had been a long day of training and the team were visibly exhausted.

The last thing to do was an obstacle course with a 30ft high wall to climb with a bell at the top, signalling the ‘win’. All of this while wearing full gear and armour.

You were a sweaty mess under the blazing heat of the sun. The gear and armour felt like chain shackling you to the ground. You wanted nothing more than to strip right down and gulp a large ice water. But now wasn’t the time.

First, you had to win.

Because the wall was only wide enough for 2 people at a time, you waited and watched as the others on your team handled the wall. They made it look easy, climbing up fast like spiders. It was rather awe-inspiring. You knew the reality was that those guys were probably seeing spots, ready to collapse to the ground but not before hearing the sweet sound of victory.

Finally, it was your turn and you were teamed with…Ghost. He’d purposely waited back as the others went, even surprising you by not challenging his pal Soap.

He looked over at you, breathing hard but steady. He nodded once and approached the wall. You followed. This challenge had just ramped up to 1000 instantly. You knew it was a slim shot to beat the Lieutenant but by god was you gonna try.

There were no safety measures in place here, as you’d expect while on a mission. There was tree bark around the wall which would break some of the fall but generally it was unlikely anyone would fall.

You got into a ready stance and allowed your eyes to follow the path upward. It looked a lot taller from down here but already a plan was forming as your eyes scanned the foot holds.

Price counted down. A whistle blew and you kicked off from the mud, hitting the wood wall hard. You wanted to look around to see your progress, look over at Ghost and see if he was ahead of you but you were no rookie. Not anymore. You focused on your grips and your footholds, up, just keep going.

Suddenly spots appeared in your vision but you kept going. Up, up. No, why am I slowing down? You thought. You hardly felt the gear in your haste and determination to win so that couldn’t be it.

While you were contemplating the reasons while trying to make your body move, you didn’t notice that Ghost had slowed down and was watching you from above. He climbed slow, probably hoping you’d find your rhythm again.

You reached out to grab a foot hold but your hand landed on nothing. Your foot lifted automatically to follow but with nothing to pull you up, you slipped down, catching yourself quickly.

Fuck, at least my reflexes are still working, you thought.

“You good?” Ghost’s voice called down to you.

You tried to respond but your mouth was too dry.

Stuck in the same spot, trying to recover yourself, you couldn’t help but notice that Ghost had stopped on the wall. There was still a chance to win so you heaved yourself body off the wall and went to climb again.

“Stop!” Ghost called out. Your vision was fading in and out, your body felt hot and cold and you could just make out Ghost’s voice next to you.

“Climb back down.” He instructed. “You’re gonna pass out, climb back down. Slowly.”

You shook your head. “No.” You croaked. “I can do it. I can win. Let me try.”

“So you can pass out and fall? I don’t fancy that call to the medic.” He pointed out.

“Please. I’ll be fine. I just need a second.” But your vision was fading faster. You were really gonna pass out.

“Back down. That’s an order, recruit.” Ghost’s voice was strong. There was no saying no to him.

“Yes, sir.” You said softly and begin your slow decent to the ground. Ghost stayed close but didn’t touch you, not until you were in the ground and your legs gave out.

He gripped your arm to stop you falling and took you across the field.

You wanted to ask where he was taking you but the look in his eye made you stop.

“Have you eaten today?” He asked suddenly, his voice much softer but still with that authority.

You hesitated to answer. “Yes?”

“When?”

“Uh…well, I had breakfast.”

He slowed and glanced back at you, frowning.

“We had that break. You didn’t eat then?”

“I…I felt sick so…no.” You wanted to lie but knew it would be fruitless.

He tutted and made his way through the building to…the cafeteria?

“Sit.” He brought you to a nearby table and you sat down, sighing with relief. You put your head down on the table for just a second and Ghost was already back.

“Tea and toast?” You asked, looking at the stacked plate, mug of dark tea and bottle of water with condensation dripping down the sides.

“I know you’ll eat them. So eat.” He sat perpendicular to you and folded his arms on the table, watching you.

You sighed, already sitting inside, out of the sun was making you feel much better.

You grab the bottle, ripping it open and easily downing half of it in 2 gulps. You close your eyes briefly and sigh.

Eyeing up the toast, you pull the plate close and take a bite, followed by finishing the 4 full slices of toast in record time. By then the tea was the perfect to drink. You savoured this and then finished the rest of the water.

“Looked like you needed that.” Ghost’s tone was much lighter now. All while you are he said nothing, just watched you. You almost forgot he was there he was so still.

“I’ll say.” You breathe, feeling very tired now.

“We can re-do that wall climb tomorrow at dawn.” He stood up from the table.

“I could have beat you, you know.” You joke, knowing you really probably couldn’t. As big as he was, he was bloody fast.

“Well find out tomorrow if ya can. Come on. You need rest.” He started to leave and you followed, wandering if he was really going to walk you all the way to the dorms.

“I called the medic while you were passed out on the table. She’ll look after you.”

“I’m okay now, really.” You argued, standing outside the medical centre.

“I’m telling you, you need rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, he walked away, leaving you at the door. You watched him go. He hardly looked all that tired, even after 8 hard hours of training.

“I’m definitely beating you tomorrow. If not then, someday. You just watch me.” You mumbled to his fading back.

“What?” The medic, who was standing in the doorway spoke, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Oh. Nothing. Ghost sent me here.”

“Of course. Come in. How are you feeling?” She asked, but your attention caught the last glimpse of Ghost before he turned a corner.

#cod simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost drabble #cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost #simon riley drabble #simon riley fluff #simon riley mw2 #cod simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley cod #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley

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promenadewithme · 10 months

Text

The Viscount Who Deceived Me - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ...

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem! Reader, maybe a bit of Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader? (winkwink)

Warnings: angst, fluff, pining, unintentional friend-zone? read at your own risk

Word Count: 2.5K words

a/n: I have decided to turn this into a multiple part series and I really want to know whether you like this or not! All feedback is welcome and wanted.

By some miracle, the... commotion didn't reach any society papers. The Bridgertons, your mama, and the coachman managed to remain silent about the matter. And so did you. In fact, you had been completely silent since the moment you entered that carriage 3 days prior.

You wanted to scream and throw things. You wanted to do anything, have any reaction. However, all the feelings that tore you apart from the inside never reached the surface.

Not until you were alone, in the middle of the night. That was the only moment you allowed the silent tears to fall down your cheeks.

To the whole ton, you and Anthony were still that same engaged, happy, and loving couple who spread hope through the hearts of unwed ladies. Yet, that was no longer the truth of it, maybe it never really was.

Now you knew, but you were once just as fooled as the young souls who believed your love was true.

'There is no such thing.' you thought to yourself.

The blinds were still closed, but the faint light from the candle you had left burning the night before was enough for you to read the Whistledown from the day your heart shattered.

'this isn’t a vantageous marriage, but one of love.'

The phrase was etched into your head, having read it a thousand times already since your mind was restless the entire night, spiralling with theories about Anthony's affair.

'Had it been going on this entire time?'

'Did he ever truly love me?'

'Was I just a pawn in his game or did he realise I was not enough for him somewhere along the way?'

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts and had you lifting your head slightly from the pillow. Your mama walked in with the 'pity smile'. That's what you had decided to call it.

Ever since the night it happened, your mother would look at you with her head slightly tilted to the side, shoulders inward, and a pained look on her face that could only be considered a smile seeing that her mouth was slightly turned upward. It would have made you laugh, were you not in your constant state of heartache and misery.

"Good morning, my dear." she greeted, removing a stray hair from your face, and continued towards the curtains before asking "How are you this morning?"

You cringed at the sudden light and sank your head back to the pillow with a grunt.

Your mother huffed before strutting determinately to you.

"Today you shall leave this room." she said, removing your covers.

"Mother, please-" you started, but she cut you off.

"I have given you time to grieve for your broken heart, but it has been three days. This is the first time you have even spoken. It is time to stand up, hold your head high."

She grabbed your hands and gave you an encouraging smile.

"He said he loved me..." you whispered, eyes welling up again.

Your mother sat down with a sigh and wiped away a fallen tear. Leaning into her hand, you thanked the Lord for having a mother that was also a friend.

"My dear child," she felt her own tears threaten to fall "it pains me to see you like this."

"I am so sorry, mama..." you sobbed "I am sorry for not being good enough."

"Don't you say that!" she scolded, then added softly "Don't you dare say that."

You sniffled as she pulled you into her embrace.

"You are everything, my dear. You are beautiful. You are kind. You are courageous. You are well read. You are everything a mother, a friend or a husband could ever ask for and more." holding your shoulders, she tried to make you see, but you persisted.

"But I was not enough for Anthony."

"Anthony Bridgerton is a rake and a fool!" she exclaimed and you shushed her.

"You mustn't say such things. Word could go out about our broken betrothal."

"That is precisely what I have come to speak to you about." she said, eyes darting to the side before coming back to yours "Do you truly wish to end your betrothal?"

"Mama!" you shot up and she followed suit.

"Surely, you know that a love match is a rare occurrence. Men are never faithful to their wives and, as much as I truly believe you deserve only the best, we need be realistic."

"You mean to say that I should marry him only to be sent off to the country to live in eternal loneliness and misery while he lives a happy life with his mistress here in the city?" you gasped "What about everything you have just said?"

"My dear, I mean all that I have said to you, but being Viscountess... You will have a good life, a comfortable life. Most of us cannot have the luxury of waiting for true love to come around. I should not be telling you this, but..." she paused and lowered her voice "Your father is set on marrying you to Lord Hughes after what happened with your betrothed."

"Hughes?" you fell back on the bed "But he is older than Papa!"

'This cannot be happening.' you thought desperately.

"It is why I am telling you to make amends with the Bridgerton boy. None of them will be loyal to you and I wish that I could change it, but at least he is younger and doesn't have 3 deceased wives that died of mysterious causes."

"You and I both know that there is nothing mysterious about being pushed down the stairs." you were heaving "There must be another way, I..."

Your hand shot up to your stomach, as if that would stop the nausea.

Everything was wrong, everything was falling apart. If you could only turn back time and...

'What could I have done differently?' you pondered.

'Not fallen for Anthony? Maybe accepted the affections of any other gentleman? Who could tell if anything would be different or if all men are the same?'

You stood up with a determined gleam in your eyes.

"Mama, send for quill and paper. I shall have tea with the Bridgertons." you decided as you walked to your closet.

The moment your carriage pulled up to the Bridgerton house, Eloise came running out. Your valet opened the door and you were engulfed in a tight hug. The comforting smell of old books and something woodsy crowded your senses and you wrapped your arms around your friend.

"I never thought I'd see you again." she whispered against your hair "Thought my bedswerver of a brother had ruined us forever."

You pulled away to look into her eyes "Nothing could ever ruin us. We are best friends, it would take a whole lot more to chase me away from you."

She smiled and pulled you along "We best get inside, it is much too cold and the tea is already brewing."

Taking a deep breath and fixing your newest sapphire blue dress, you followed her into the familiar house. Your families had been connected since your infancy. The Dowager Viscountess had been a close friend to your mother ever since she had first wed the late Viscount Bridgeton. Your grandmama had taught them both all there was to know about being a good wife.

'I suppose it mustn't have been that hard to please someone who was head over heels in love with you already.' you thought.

You were only a child when Edmund Bridgerton passed, but you, as well as everyone else in the ton, would always remember the love between him and his wife.

A love you thought Anthony would have had with you.

Eloise pushed open the door to the drawing room where only her mama and Daphne sat. You sighed a breath of relief and curtsied.

"My dear girl." Violet stood and gave you a hug "I never expected to see you so soon, but I am glad you are here."

Her warm smile eased you, despite the ache you felt. His smell was here, his very essence in this house. You wanted so badly to hate him, but your good memories betrayed you.

Ice skating in the lake by the house, having ice cream at the parlour, horseback riding in the park, laughing until your stomach hurt, passing touches during balls.

“I cannot think of anything else, Siena.” he whispered before kissing her neck.

"One last night to remember.” he kissed her again.

The memories were like a slap and you fell back into reality, Violet's face replacing them.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Viscountess Bridgerton." you bowed your head.

"Please, my child. We are past that, I have told you time and time again to call me Violet." she caressed your arm with the tenderness of a mother.

"Forgive me, Violet..." you took a deep breath in and prayed to God that your tears only fell at home "Is Anthony home?"

"He left early this morning with a horse, but-"

As if sensing his presence being summoned, the doors to the drawing room flew open and Anthony walking in with searching eyes. They landed on you and he strode in your direction.

It looked like he was going to hug you, but he stopped less than a foot from you and took a step back.

"(y/n), I-" he started, but you could not bare to hear him, so you halted his words with a hand on his.

"My lord, I wish to apologise." you said bowing your head in what might have looked like a submissive stance, but was actually you swerving his piercing gaze.

"What?" exclaimed Eloise.

Anthony started speaking again, but you had to finish saying what you came to say. You had it all planned out in your mind and if you didn't go through with your speech, it might all go to ruins.

"I over-reacted. I know most men take on lovers before and during wed-lock, it is a normal occurrence and I had no right to condemn you for it." Bile rose up your throat, but you continued "I ask you to take me back, if you will still have me."

"Have you gone mad?" Eloise shook your shoulders.

"Please," you whispered, eyes stinging with unshed tears "Let me do this. I will explain everything later."

Your best friend looked disappointed, but took a step back. Your heart sunk even further into your chest.

Looking back at Anthony, you asked again "Will you have me, my lord?"

Eyebrows furrowed as ever, mouth agape with unspoken thoughts, he nodded once and pursed his lips in a frown.

You let out a pent up breath and forced a smile "I shall see you at the Cowper ball this evening, then?"

"Yes, but (y/n)-"

"I must go, I have a fitting at the modiste for tonight."

With a brief curtsy, you fled the room. Turning to run down the stairs, you bumped into Benedict.

"Whoa." he grabbed the handrail with one hand and your waist with the other to keep you both from falling.

Your chest bumped into his and you looked up, tears blurring your sight.

"(y/n)?" his voice sounded surprised. You could not see his face, but you would wager those expressive eyes of his also were. "What are you doing here? Why are you crying? What did he do?"

His thumb caught a fallen tear and he cupped your face, slowly stroking your cheek.

"Who do I have to beat up? Besides my dalcop brother, of course." he joked with that side smile of his and you answered with something between a laugh and a sob.

"Me. I fear the culprit is me this time."

His brows furrowed and you elaborated "I came to ask for your brother's forgiveness and if he would still have me."

His finger stopped "What?"

"It is a long story." you sighed, holding his arm.

"I have time." he offered and you smiled.

Truly smiled for the first time in 3 days.

"Very well, then. Walk me home?"

He offered his arm and answered "It would be my pleasure."

You took it and you both walked down the stairs and out of the house in comfortable silence.

"Do you remember old Hughes?" you asked and the Bridgerton twisted his face.

"The one who smells like a chimney and was around since before christ?"

You laughed "That's the one."

"What about him?" Ben asked and you stopped walking to look at him.

"After what happened with Anthony, my father started thinking of offering him my hand."

"Hughes?" he gasped.

"So, it was either asking if Anthony would still have me or marrying the oldest and most disgusting man this town has ever seen." You started walking again.

"That's not true." He murmured.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"There are countless other men who want your hand. Men who would treat you better than both of them. Love you like you deserve to be loved."

You saw your house and slowed your steps. Without any siblings, the closest thing you had to family, beside your mother, were the Bridgertons. They felt like home.

This felt like home.

"Well, if you know any, send them my way." you smiled softly, then added solemnly "My father insists on me getting married since I have already been out for 3 seasons. I have no other choice. If I did, I..."

You both stopped in front of your house, the sharp scent of geranium from your mother's garden invaded your nose.

"I don't know what I'd do. I don't even know if I believe in love anymore." you sighed in defeat.

"I don't believe that." said Benedict, holding your hands in his "You? Are we talking about the same person? The one who has read romance novels since always, picks wildflowers for her bedroom, stops to feel the wind against her hair, cries at the opera, and spends more time daydreaming than awake in the present?"

You smiled sheepishly and looked at your shoes. Benedict wouldn't have that. He put a finger under your chin and lifted your head.

His eyes were soft when he said "You are love personified. Nothing and no one will ever take that away. Any man would be the most fortunate being in this earth to spend the rest of their life by your side."

You were speechless as he kissed your hand and turned to leave.

You grabbed his arm before he could go "That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me"

When he only looked down with a smile, you continued "I wish I could hug you without it being improper, you are like a brother to me after all."

"Well," his eyes fell "we all wish for things we cannot have."

Benedict lowered his lips to your hand in a lingering kiss.

"I will see you tonight."

Then he left.

a/n: this was initially just going to be a one part Anthony Bridgerton angst fic. However, I got so many request on part 1 to continue this, so I started thinking about where this could head and I have so much to write for this already. I absolutely pouring my heart and soul into this series for the past few days, so please tell me if it's good or absolute shit.

General Tag List: @crazy-beautiful @missryerye

Bridgerton Tag List: @dancingwith-sunflowers @for-bebbanburg @navs-bhat @elishi03 @s-unflowxr @thebreadisthetruevillian @peakyweirdo @lucyysthings @freyathehuntress @rach2602

People who asked for Part 2: @snixx2088 @acourtofbooksandfantasy @alldaysdreamer @dandansdays @freyagallileaevans @alldaysdreamers @lizziesfirstwife @theonewithallthemilkshakes @freyathehuntress @ilovehopelessromantics @venomsvl

Click here if you want to join any of my tag lists (ps: I added more fandoms and characters)

If you can and want to, buy me a Ko-Fi!

#fic #fics #fanfiction #bridgerton #abc bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #the bridgertons #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fic #anthony x reader #eloise bridgerton x best friend! reader

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sunderlust · 2 years

Note

ok but Rooster telling you “there’s my girl” in that deep voice as you may eye contact with him while you swallow down his cock 😮‍💨 he’d gently caress your face with his fingers while he did it too

ANON I AM FERAL YHRIWEHURFHIUEWH that video made me shiver so hard and this ask drives me nuts thank you for sending it in! I’m just gonna leave this here

rooster x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ ONLY explicit language, explicit sexual activity (oral m receiving, public acts of indecency but like the parking lot is just semi deserted okay they found an open spot they’re just thrill seekers I guess djsidicjdjd)

side note Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse plz check out her writing) and I have determined Bradley loves finding clothing deals at Costco (biggest Kirkland stan you’ll ever know) but I think once in a blue moon his partner likes to buy him something fancy ❤️

Bradley should really invest in some softer car mats - and you resolve to tell him once you’re no longer occupied with his heavy cock in your mouth in the backseat of his Bronco.

What started out as a sweet date night - with you and Bradley checking out the new Italian place that had just opened, and then driving down to a beach over on Point Loma to watch the sunset - has now quickly turned into a scene from one of your go-to twitter porn accounts with you on your knees between his legs, going down on him and fogging up the windows of his car.

And you’re not sure what spurred you to pull him in for a heavy kiss and straddle him in the drivers seat not even five minutes after he’d parked in the almost deserted sunset viewing lot - it might have had something to do with how sexy he looked in the glow of the setting sun, or the way he’d crept one hand underneath his favorite sundress and kept it glued to your inner thigh during the drive, or the way his muscles were straining against the sleeves of his new J. Crew button down (you ordered it on a whim after a late night rosé-fueled online shopping spree and a part of you thinks he planned out this whole date night just to have a chance to wear it out - not that you’re complaining).

All that to say - one thing led to another and suddenly you were both in his back with the passenger and drivers seats pushed up as far as they could go, and you’re choking on his cock with your breasts hanging out the front of your dress and Bradley’s head pressed into the seat headrest as he struggles to keep his moans at an appropriate level.

He’s close - you can tell by the way his breathing is more strained than ever, the way his left hand tightens as he grips your hair back to keep it from falling into your eyes, the way your name sounds even huskier coming out of his mouth as he tries to contain himself. You double down, sucking hard on his cock as you push your mouth down onto it as far as you can handle, reaching another hand down to caress his balls; the strangled guttural sound he emits sends a shock straight to you core and you moan softly, sending vibrations throughout his body and making his other hand clench and unclench as he tries to contain himself.

“Shit, such a good girl, so fucking pretty with my cock in her mouth, so fucking good for me, goddamn,” he groans again and you feel his cock tense as you pull your mouth off him, electing to kitten lick the tip eagerly.

“You gonna cum in my mouth?” you ask him innocently, sucking the tip lightly and looking up at him through your lashes. Bradley’s hand - the one not in your hair - reaches to caress your cheek as he looks down at you lovingly. Without waiting for a response, without breaking eye contact, you lower your mouth further onto him, hollowing out your cheeks and bobbing your head the whole way down.

Bradley hisses through his teeth as you repeat the motion, finally grunting out “That’s it, fuck, shit I’m close, I’m cumming,” he lightly thrusts his hips upwards, pushes his cock slightly further into your mouth and you feel his salty spend hit the back of your throat in a series of spurts, filling your mouth with warmth as you struggle to swallow it all down. Bradley’s moans above you are more incentive than ever to be a good girl, finish the job, keep it from getting messy and ruining his new shirt or his favorite dress.

Your eyes are locked in a loving gaze and your jaw hurts from holding his softening cock in your mouth, and as he comes down from his high he releases your hair from his grip and smooths out the flyaways. “That's my girl," Bradley says in a voice like honey, his thumb softly grazing your cheek, eyes full of awe and amazement and wonder. “My pretty girl.”

#rooster x reader #Bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster fic #rooster drabble #top gun fic #sorry honestly I wrote this bc I’m stuck on a stupid project and this ask was stuck in my head LOL #sol says 🗣

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lavellenchanted · 5 months

Text

The Courtship of Peggy Carter (fic coming soon)

When Steve returns to the 1940s, he knows he wants to be with Peggy, but he can't help but worry about how the years they have both lived through have changed them - so he proposes that they start dating and get to know each other again. But Peggy has her own ideas about how their courtship will go, and is a woman determined to get what she wants. Namely Steve. In her bed. Sooner than he seems to be planning to get there.

Happy holidays @margarethcarter! I'm your Secret Santa this year - I'm so sorry your gift is so ridiculously late, but this month has just been incredibly full on. I am hoping to get your gift finished and up soon, but I didn't want to end the year without you getting anything.

You said you prefer post-Endgame time period and mentioned Peggy finding out that Steve's acquired some game since she last saw him, which what inspired this fic, so I hope when it's finally finished you will enjoy it, but in the meantime here is a little preview for you!

***

“And this . . . you being here . . . is it for good? Or do you have to go back?”

Steve held her gaze, serious and steady, the way he always did whenever he wanted her to know that what he was about to say was something he had thought over carefully.

“I’d like it to be. I came back because this place, this time, is where I belong. I wanted to come home, to have the life I never got a chance to have. And I want, very much, for that life to be with you.”

For a moment Peggy felt as if she had forgotten how to breathe, her chest tight and her heart beating painfully hard against her ribs. She opened her mouth to tell him yes, that she wanted a life with him as well, but before the words could form he had brought a finger to her lips to keep her from speaking.

“But,” he continued softly, a tenderness in his expression that made her glow with warmth, “I don’t think that’s a decision either of us should be making right now.”

A faint frown creased Peggy’s forehead. “Why not?”

“Because of how good this feels.”

She couldn’t help quirking an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth curling upwards. “That’s a bad thing, is it?”

Steve chuckled. “No. I just mean . . . I’ve dreamed about being here with you for so long, it would be easy to rush into this. To forget that . . . a lot of time has passed, for both of us. And that we’re probably both different people than we were when I went into the ice.”

Peggy let out a slow breath. Part of her - the part that for the last four years had been filled with grief, sorrow and longing whenever she thought of Steve - was afraid, terrified that this moment of joy in finding him again was going to be cut short, and leave her with nothing but echoing silence of his absence once more. She wanted to cling on to him as tightly as she could, to hold him to her so she didn’t have to face the pain of losing him again.

Another, regrettably more sensible part of her, recognised that what he was saying was true. The four years she had spent being overlooked at the SSR had left their mark as surely as the war had, and now she was reinventing herself again as the Director of SHIELD. She felt very far from the young agent that had worked on Project Rebirth.

And Steve . . . right now she could only guess at the sort of things Steve had lived through, the reasons for the weariness that lurked at the back of his eyes, the sadness that seemed etched into his face, mingling with his joy when he had asked her if he could finally claim his dance.

“So what are you suggesting?” she asked, forcing a calmness she didn’t entirely feel.

But to her surprise - and a little to her relief - Steve smiled.

“I’m suggesting that we date. Like we would have - should have - if things had gone the way we planned. Get to know each other as we are now. And if after we’ve dated for a while, we’re both sure this is still something we want . . . well, then we can talk about what’s next.”

Peggy almost wanted to laugh. “Are you telling me you travelled back nearly a century in time just to ask me on a date?”

His smile widened to a grin. “To start with, anyway.”

#steggy secret santa #steggysecretsanta #steggy #margarethcarter #happy christmas and happy new year!#I WILL get this finished and up for you soon I promise #my fic #otp: the right partner

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bagopucks · 1 year

Text

Blurbs

Jamie Drysdale x Reader

It’s 3:30 am. I woke up in the midst of a storm. So I figured I’d post a storm request I finished.

✄————————————

“She‘s right here, mom.” I peeked up from my phone to see Jamie turning his own in my direction. I waved at his mother on the face time call.

“Oh, hi, honey! I was just asking to make sure you were okay. I know Anaheim’s under a tornado watch right now.”

I frowned at the reminder, and slowly looked back down at my book.

“Mom.” Jamie scolded quietly, as if I wouldn’t be able to hear him from across the couch.

“Right, sorry. I forgot.”

“Do you mind if I hang up? I can’t stay on the phone with you all night.” Jamie spoke in a joking tone, but I knew he was antsy to get off the phone so he could charge it in the case that the power went out. And anybody with an iPhone knows how hot they get when on a call and charging at the same time.

“Yes, Jamie. Be safe, okay? And make sure you have a lot of blankets, and flashlights around. Does your apartment complex have a place to go to at times like these?”

“I think so. People have already visited and let us know where to go if the sirens go off.” Jamie stood up, and my eyes trailed him as he left the living room and walked into the dark kitchen.

I hated thunder storms. What I hated more was tornadoes. I hadn’t lived through one and I didn’t want to. But the threat of one in an area where they weren’t uncommon made me incredibly nervous. Every flash of lighting and loud crack of thunder woke a new wave of nerves. I hated it, but what I hated even more was how calm Jamie seemed.

“Right.. I love you mom.” Jamie returned with a bottle of water in his hand.

“Tell my sweet future daughter in law that I love her too!”

I smiled to myself, and I spared a moment to look up from my phone again, specifically to catch the blush on Jamie’s cheeks before it disappeared.

“I love you too Mrs. Drysdale!” I shouted across the room, and Jamie ended the call quickly after.

“She is so set on you being the girl I marry.”

“And you’re not?” I teased as I looked back down. Jamie quickly got settled on the opposite end of the couch again.

“I am, but she’s been like that since day one.” He shook his head in disbelief, reaching up to push back the dark hair that fell over his eyes.

The light flickered, and for a moment neither Jamie nor I said a word. We both looked up at the ceiling, as if somebody was messing with the lights there. Perhaps we jinxed our own power, because the next thing I knew, there was a loud rumble of thunder and the power completely cut out.

“Great,” I heard Jamie mumble out.

“Jam.” I stretched my legs out across the couch, the tip of my toes just barely grazing his thigh.

“You good?”

“Should we go downstairs?”

“Babe, we’re fine. There’s no siren or anything. Just a loss of power.”

I turned my phone off and set it down. Jamie’s flashlight turned on, and he set his phone down with the light facing upwards. I could see him. It made me feel safer. A flash of lightning lit up the room, far brighter than Jamie’s light. I tensed in anticipation of the thunder, but the loud boom still caught me off guard. My entire body jolted, and the only sound to soothe me had been the sound of Jamie’s laughter.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, pulling my blanket up over my shoulders.

“You.”

“Me?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Jamie brought his hand down to rest on my ankle.

Another rumble of thunder made me gasp.

“Babe, really.” Jamie insisted. “Come here.” His smile slowly faded into a look of determination. I crawled out from beneath my blanket and moved over to Jamie’s side of the couch, curling into his side. “I’ve got you, alright?” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and I rested my head on his shoulder.

“You’re safe with me. I’ll never let anything happen to you.” I closed my eyes and nodded slowly. When I opened them, I looked back to the window, wincing at another flash of lightning. I felt Jamie pull me into his chest more, both of us anticipating the thunder, but he was more so worried about me jumping again.

When the thunder did rumble, I pressed deeper into his side. Jamie kissed my head and rubbed his hand up and down my arm in a soothing manner.

“Babe.” Jamie spoke sternly. “Stop thinkin’ about it.” He moved his free hand forward to rest beneath my chin, tilting my head in his direction. I sighed softly. “Don’t think about it.” Jamie leaned forward to press his lips against my own. He put up a good argument. He made for a great distraction. As he pulled away, my I allowed my body to relax against his side. The lightning flashed, but I tried to remain focused on Jamie. He’d get me through this.

“See? That’s not so bad. Gimme another.” Jamie pressed his lips to my own once again, earning a quiet laugh from me before the thunder rumbled. My body tensed, but I didn’t jump.

“You’ll be okay.” Jamie reminded gently against my lips.

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