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thedreamlessnights · 1 month

Note

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.

��Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #mywriting

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cowboyfromh3ll · 7 months

Note

you said to do headcannons right?

can you do sex headcannons for the members of the gang? Only ones you're comfortable with obv. Personally, I don't care much for Micah (I want to set him on fire) so feel free to leave him out if you don't feel like writing for him

But the usual Dutch, John, Javier, Arthur, Charles, and anybody else you feel like are just perfect. I love your writing, so I'm excited to see your take on these

Sex HC Ft. Van Der Linde Gang

(Dutch Van Der Linde, John Marston, Javier Escuella, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Micah Bell, Sean Macguire, Sadie Adler)

I should write for the girls more

Warnings: Smut, duh

Dutch Van Der Linde

He probably loves roleplaying

Pretending he's the outlaw and you're the officer punishing him

But most times he loves being in control of you, thinks it's so attractive when you submit completely to him and become his pliable little servant

Likes it when you wear expensive jewelry and gifts he buys you with nothing else on

Definitely wants you to call him Sir

Says the most poetic and flowery things to you during

Probably enjoys receiving but LOVES giving head. Views it as another way to take control

Quickies with him are non existent. To him, sex and intimacy are an art, and he will take his time with every little detail and aspect of it

Enjoys playful brattiness, definitely a brat tamer

I can see him being into BDSM. Ball gags, leather crops, leashes, blindfolds, etc

John Marston

Super messy, super rough, super desperate

Pussy eating pro. I'm talking mind blowing, back arching, toe curling, sheet gripping head. ALWAYS asks if he can go down on you

Acts like every time you two have sex will be the last

On the contrary though, I feel like he'd be into edging

Also doesn't mind letting you be dominant, he has such submissive energy

Mayhaps a mommy kink, because I can also see him calling you mommy

Would let you tie him up, totally at your mercy

He loses any semblance of shame, will beg, cry, whimper, you name it

Could consent to just about anything, if you tell him to bark he'll bark

Gets carried away when during sex sometimes, just gets absolutely drunk from pleasure

Javier Escuella

Incredibly romantic and passionate

He can fuck, but he can also make love

So much sexual stamina, and makes every time you have sex absolutely unforgettable

Loves to make sure you are as comfortable as possible and feel as though you have enough privacy. Even if it means paying for a hotel, he'll do anything to ensure your comfort

But if you wanna have risky public sex he's more than willing to as well lmao

Holds you and whispers how much he loves you while he thrusts slowly

But if y'all are fucking he'll say the filthiest shit he can conjur up in his mind while thrusting as hard and fast as he can

Slaps and grips anything he can hold onto

Overwhelms all of your senses and stimulates you in multiple ways at once

Loves cumming inside you but if not inside then on your torso or face

Arthur Morgan

Loves putting his whole weight on you when y'all fuck

Just simply pinning you down with the size of him drives him crazy

Is such a gentleman even during sex. Always stops and asks how you are and if you like how he's doing

Insists you don't have to go down on him but secretly loves it when you do

His favorite positions are ones where you're totally helpless like mating presses or locking your arms behind you

Whenever he fucks you from behind he wraps his massive arm around your neck. Idly squeezes down on your neck

Enjoys sex totally naked, makes it feel more intimate exposing yourselves fully to each other

But he loves it if you wear cute outfits for him just so he can take it off you

But he absolutely loves quickies. Complains they're too risky but every time you suggest one he's unbuckling his belt before you can finish your sentence

Definitely does the knee thing

Charles Smith

He is a pure giver. You will always cum at least 3 times or else he won't feel like he did a thorough job.

Will ignore his own aching cock as long as he can see you squirm in ecstasy

Your pleasure is his pleasure

Doesn't care if he doesn't get to cum tbh

Definitely aware of his size and uses it to his advantage if you're into that

Cages you in his arms, holds you down, puts you in choke holds, etc

I feel like he'd be pretty vanilla and you'd be the one to bring kinks to the table if anything. Will honestly do most anything you want if it brings you pleasure

Soft but firm touches, like every touch is done with intent and thought

Type to make out with you for hours without any actual stimulation and be content. Will see you off with the bluest balls.

Lenny Summers

He's still pretty young so I believe his experience would be limited

You two are probably eachother's first everythings, atleast you're his

Probably cums real fast but makes up for it with enthusiam

Will try out so many things with you, the two of you will both bring ideas to the table

Tries to start things off slow but his excitement gets the best of him

SO MUCH communication and talking during (feedback, jokes, etc...)

Very forward with his needs

Asks for hand/blow jobs a lot to blow off some steam

Very fast learner, and probably very risky

I feel like he'd ask to finger you a lot in risky situations

There's been instances where he just forgets foreplay altogether and just wants to go at it

Kieran Duffy

Submissive as hell

Definitely whimpers

Let's you take the lead 99% of the time

Will cum within five minutes max, and it really takes it out of him

Super sensitive literally everything. Touch him anywhere and he's blushing and squirming

Loves it if you wrap your thighs around his head

That being said, enjoys face sitting

Feels reassured when you tell him what to do and help him in the process

Hands roam all over you, it's like he can't fathom that you're a real being that's actually doing this with him

Eyes roll back and his face goes red when he cums. He's super embarassed about it

Micah Bell

SO rough. Drags you into position and commands you to do certain things

Likes slapping, hair pulling, spitting, I feel like he'd even be into piss. All of the above would go both ways for him.

Hate sex with him goes crazy ong. And after arguments? Just fucking all your anger away

Into degrading for sure

Sex is definitely the best emotional release for the both of you without actually hurting eachother

He's into marks. That entails scratches, bites, bruises

Make him bleed, literally beat the shit out of him during sex and he'll let it slide

Sex is a constant battle for dominance

Probably makes you do embarassing things for him like bark

Also puts you in obscene and embarassing positions just for his own pleasure

If anyone ever heard y'all have sex they'd think it sounds more like an argument and a fist fight than love making

Sean Macguire

The goofiest man during sex, not even intentionally either. He'll say the stupidest thing you've ever heard with his whole chest and you'll have to ask if he's serious

"You ready for the Macguire special?"

Loud ass moans, cannot contain them. If you're into public sex you better either prepare to be caught or mentally prepare yourself for the influx of scoldings/questions that'll come later

LOVES playful brattiness or when you want to take control. He's all for it

Has fantasies of being woken up with head

Will do the same for you in return if that's what it takes to enact his fantasies

Also into roleplay but way cornier shit like you're a nurse and he's a patient. Indulges in costumes as well

Drunk sex is the best because it's combining two of his favorite things

Sadie Adler

Also definitely does the knee thing...

Genuinely one of the sweetest and more passionate lovers, and it will translate during sex

Super gentle and passionate

Lot's of "I love you"s exchanged

Never any space between you, your limbs constantly intertwined as you kiss and move against eachother

Either of you can take the role as dom, it doesn't matter to her

Smiles the whole time out of pure adoration for you

Can be super sultry and kinky when the time calls for it though

Not opposed to being a little rougher but I can't see her going too far with that

Thinks you're far too delicate and special to be treated in such a way

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woso-dreamzzz · 6 months

Text

Flirts

Mapi Leon x Reader x Ingrid Engen

Summary: Your cousin's two friends are definitely flirting with you

You meet them at a party - although calling it a party is a bit of a stretch.

You meet them at a get-together. You let yourself into your house with your key and hang your jacket up on your hook, grabbing Patri's up from where she had thrown it on the floor and placing it on a hook as well.

You toe off your shoes and ignore the chatter from the living room in favour of grabbing a drink. You sigh deeply when you see the dishes in the sink.

"Patricia!" You yell," I mean this in the nicest way possible, I don't care if you're friends are here, but I need these dishes cleaned up tonight."

You can hear your cousin swear at the use of her name as well as quiet giggling from her teammates.

You linger in the doorway, arms crossed over your purple scrubs. "I mean it," You say firmly," They've been in the sink since last night."

"Yeah, Patri," Pina teases, nudging her with a foot," Go and clean up after yourself."

You roll your eyes. "You can help, Pina," You say," Seeing as I know you ate my leftovers last night."

The pair both huff but do as you say. Your eyes rove over the assembled football players. You recognise a few of them personally but some from only when you've seen them on tv.

They watch you in silence, some of them wide-eyed.

"How is Nala?"

Alexia's face lights up. "She is good. Better now that her fur has grown back!"

You let out a laugh. "Well, if she hadn't gotten gallstones then I wouldn't have had to shave her." You glance down at your phone, checking your calendar. "I'm still seeing her next week, right? To get her stitches removed?"

"Si," Alexia says," Gracias, y/n, for having her seen so quickly."

You shrug. "Well, when there's a dog as cute as Nala getting them seen quick is my first priority."

Alexia beams at you before saying to the rest of the group," This is Patri's cousin. She's a vet, the one that saved Nala. y/n, this is Ona, Lucy, Keira, Mapi and Ingrid. They all play for Barca."

"Of course," You roll your eyes," It's nice to meet you all." You move to leave but one of the girls on the sofa catches your wrist - Mapi, you think.

Her eyes shine with something you're not familiar with as she exchanges a look with Ingrid, whose lap she is sitting in. "You cannot stay?"

You glance at the clock, not exactly sure why you're entertaining this girl who's clearly in a relationship. "I have a surgery tomorrow."

Her girlfriend moves her head to look at you. "What kind of surgery?"

It's like they both knew how to draw you in, ready and incredibly willing to listen to you talk about the pulmonary stenosis you were correcting tomorrow.

At some point in the conversation, Mapi and Ingrid had separated, moving to different ends of the sofa until you were sandwiched between them. As you spoke, detailing the work you did as one of the few cardiothoracic veterinary specialists in Spain, Mapi's hand came to rest on your thigh and Ingrid propped her head up on her arm and used her hand to gently brush your hair out of your face.

Madre Mia.

They were flirting with you.

●～●～●～●～

You thought it was a one-night occurrence, the innocent flirting and the affectionate touches. You thought that they would remain Patri's teammates who you would occasionally see at games and far away from your actual life out of your cousin's spotlight.

But they start appearing everywhere.

Sometimes together.

Sometimes alone.

Ingrid at your favourite coffee place.

Mapi hanging around the park near your house.

Both of them 'bumping into you' while shopping.

It gets progressively more and more until your day is ruined by not seeing or hearing from them. It's completely seamless the way that they've inserted themselves into your lives.

You're sitting in the crowd at El Clásico when you start to realise that this might be a bit more serious than you originally thought.

You're introduced to Jana, Bruna and Frido as Alexia approaches, extremely happy to announce that Nala is much better than before.

"Oh, I know who you are," Frido replies," Mapi and Ingrid won't shut up about you. You're the vet."

You're a bit confused that Mapi and Ingrid have been talking about you to Frido, even more embarrassed when she reveals that you're all they ever talk about now - the fact that you've made it rich as a cardiothoracic specialist but still helped Nala with her gallbladder despite it making you little to no money compared to your usual work, the fact that you know all the secret backroads and hole in the wall shops around the city.

Everything and anything you've even mentioned in passing to them has been reported to Frido, who laughs slightly at your shell-shocked face.

"They're obsessed with you," She says," And I know for a fact that Patri's been helping them bump into you. You know, Mapi said that she was worried about asking Patri for your number."

Your cheeks colour. You hadn't realised that you meant so much to the couple, who seamlessly brought you into their orbit without even thinking much about it, seducing you into their lives with sweet words and soft touches.

Your mouth opens and closes for probably the whole of the match and it's not until you're let onto the field to congratulate your cousin and Pina, that you finally manage to gather your thoughts.

Mapi crashes into your back at speed, nearly bowling you over but Ingrid's already there, ready to catch you. You're pushed into her front and, with Mapi at your back, you're held hostage between them as they speak to you.

You don't exactly want to escape them though, content and happy between them.

"Bah!" Mapi complains when she pulls away and spies your Patri shirt. "Do you have to wear that?"

You laugh in disbelief as Ingrid moves to settle her arm around your shoulder while Mapi threads your fingers together. "She's my cousin. I think she would be upset if I didn't. Besides, what was I meant to wear up in the Barca box? White for Madrid?"

Both of them make a face.

"Or mine," Mapi says with a silly grin and a blown-out look in her eyes as if she's imagining it," Or Ingrid's. Actually, definitely Ingrid's. You'd look hot in her shirt."

Your cheeks flush - a regular occurrence when you're with the pair of them.

"I think yours," Ingrid replies," She would look equally as good in it." She winks at you. "But I wouldn't be opposed to you wearing mine either."

Your cheeks grow hotter and you bury your head in Ingrid's chest to try and hide your blush.

Mapi doesn't let you though. Her fingers capture your chin and she pulls you to face her. Ingrid rests her own chin on your shoulder and her hands go around your waist, securing you in place.

"Don't look away, amor," Mapi says and her voice drops to some form of purr that you're too busy overthinking to put a proper name to," We like to see when we make you all pretty and red."

"It's our favourite thing about you," Ingrid whispers in your ear and you have to clench your jaw to stop yourself from crying out in public," How you react when we hold you close and don't let go."

●～●～●～●～

You hide out in your house after that interaction, pacing up and down the halls like you're crazy, which completely freaks Patri out.

All those times, you had thought that it was a harmless game to them, flirting with you, buying you gifts, taking you out on things that we're most definitely dates now that you think about. You thought it was just them spicing up their relationship with each other, spoiling you to make the other jealous so they could go home and have epic sex - you almost shut down completely when you think about how good Mapi and Ingrid would be in bed.

But, clearly, your growing crush had been mutual and that's enough to make you go into a complete tailspin.

You don't see them for a few days anyway - travelling to Valencia to perform an open heart surgery on some philanthropist's poor dog. When you come home, it's with a very welcome stowaway.

"No," Patri gasps as she says you stroll in with Bambi in your arms.

It turns out your new client (who also was so thankful for you saving his eldest dog's life) had gifted you one of the newest from his Shiba Inu's litter.

She was undoubtedly small, practically a runt but you fell in love with her the moment she climbed into your lap as you took a refreshment break after surgery and licked your nose.

"Si," You say to Patri, who is already taking pictures," Her name's Bambi."

Patri's friends all end up coming over, cooing over Bambi who takes it so well that you've got no worries about her socialisation.

That's when you next see Mapi and Ingrid.

Mapi walks up behind you, arm automatically around your waist. "You look good as a mama," She says as you both watch Alexia coo over your puppy," She'll be in great hands."

You grin. "Safest hands in Spain," You joke, lifting them up," If you go by my lack of complications after surgery."

Mapi rests one of her hands against your palm. Hers are bigger than yours, and rougher from days of lifting weights and doing pull-ups in the gym. Yours are softer by comparison, used to precision needlework and lightly holding a scalpel to make the tiniest of incisions.

"You have nice hands," She says after a moment and she watches your face redden. She leans in. "I wonder what else they're good at."

You catch the implication and an embarrassing squeak slips from your lips. Mapi grins like a wolf and pulls away, hand dropping but keeping an arm around your waist, pulling you into her body.

Ingrid appears in the next moment. She shares a tender kiss with Mapi and winks at you as they pull away.

"Motherhood suits you," She says, her accent causes something to stir within you," You're glowing."

You fix your eyes on Bambi, who's running around trying to see who will give her treats next. "It's not like I was pregnant," You try to defend yourself but from the corner of your eye, Ingrid peels away from Mapi to join you at your other side. Her arm closes around your shoulder, fingers drawing patterns on the exposed skin of your arm.

"Hmm," She says dismissively of your statement," How was the surgery? Good? Seeing as you came home with a cutie like Bambi."

"Rich guys are generally annoying but this one was pretty cool. He has a lot of animals but he cares deeply for them all." You frown. "I think he's keeping me on a retainer now. I didn't think you could do that for vets, just lawyers."

"You clearly seduced him, amor," Mapi says," You're good like that, getting people to fall for you."

Ingrid's tongue darts out to wet her lips. "Yes, she's very good at that."

●～●～●～●～

It all comes to a head just two weeks after El Clásico.

You've left Bambi at a friend's house and Patri's dragged you out to a club with some of her friends.

You're completely sober though, Patri's only way home, but you still end up dancing.

Somewhere along the night, Mapi and Ingrid (equally as sober) join you.

You're sandwiched between them again - Ingrid at your back and Mapi at your front.

Ingrid's hands are on your waist so even if you wanted to fall out of their orbit, you can't.

Your dancing gets more and more sensual as time goes on until you catch Mapi's eyes.

She's grinning like she usually is when you're caught in Ingrid's grip - like a wolf. It happens in slow motion for you.

She leans forward, ever so slightly and your heart beats erratically in your chest. Your lips connect and fireworks go off in your brain. You move on instinct, kissing back and the guilt appears only as she pulls away.

Your eyes widen in alarm and you dart them towards Ingrid, an apology already on your tongue.

You had a crush on both of them, that's true, but kissing Mapi in front of her girlfriend was crossing a line that you shouldn't have crossed.

But Ingrid's grinning down at you and steals a kiss as well, flicking her tongue into your mouth with ease. Her hands move up to your face, leaving Mapi to hold onto your hips.

Your knees feel a little weak when she pulls away.

"You were right," Ingrid says to Mapi although her eyes are still on you," She does taste good."

The implications of that makes your heart skip a beat. They've been talking about you together, about how you react to them, about how you taste.

"You're so dense, amor," Mapi says to you as recognition of every interaction you've had with them suddenly starts to make perfect sense," So book smart, the best vet in the country but so dense. We've been flirting with you for months now."

"Since we saw you that night at Patri's," Ingrid continues," We just knew we had to have you." All those dates. All those little gifts." Her hand comes to rest on the junction between your neck and shoulder. "We're gonna treat you so well, elskling. You just have to say yes."

"Gonna make you our girlfriend," Mapi says as open-mouthed kisses are pressed against the other side of your neck," Gonna take you home with us tonight, if you'll let us. Just say yes."

You don't even have to think about it.

"Yes."

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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randombush3 · 1 month

Text

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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starkeyisthelastname · 3 months

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you need to write a smut where you see the video of mackayla on her insta account where drew is holding his niece, that makes you watch in awe and you see that he would be a good dad. breeding kink and stuff

(Reader is childhood best friend’s with Drew turned lover. 🥰)

As soon as you watched the video of your handsome man holding his niece it made your heart warm all over again. You had always felt a bit awkward with children, afraid of being a bad mother. Seeing Drew with the baby girl though, acting so natural with her, had you considering starting that chapter of your life with him.

You hadn’t been able to keep your hand’s off of Drew from the minute he walked in the house. You told him you were ready to have a baby, watching as his blue eyes lit up. The two of you weren’t married, but had been together since the end of high school and known each other for years prior. Your relationship was private, the fans not knowing much as he kept you out of the public eye. You knew having a baby was a huge deal for the two of you, especially the further Drew’s career advanced. It was a risk you were willing to take, wanting nothing more than to create a life with the man you loved. Mackayla had your baby fever rising high and there was no stopping it.

He was deep. Your knees touching your chest as his thick length stretched you out. He looked so good, hair freshly cut from filming the fourth season of OBX. You couldn’t help but moan loud, the position a new kind of deep as he talked you through it.

“So fucking beautiful, sweetheart.” Drew groaned, watching you take his cock like a good girl. “Doing so good. You want that baby, don’t you?” He asked, your nod slow as you whimpered from the further stretch.

Drew wasn’t small by any means, his dick penetrating you deep as he knew what the both of you wanted. His breathy groans made you soak around him more, wanting nothing else than for him to fill you up for the first time. “Need it.. so bad.” You cried, curling your toes.

The two of you were riled up, skin slapping hard against one another as he pounded you into oblivion. Your moans echoing off the wall as your orgasm washed over you.

“I’m about to fill this pussy up sweetheart. You ready? Gonna be such a sexy mama all round with my baby.” He grunted, mouth apart as he slowed his thrusts down to hit your cervix.

“Drew!” You yelled, sitting up on your elbows just in time to feel his hot seed paint your walls. For it being the first time, it was a feeling that you never wanted to end. Keeping him close, as he made sure to not let any drop go to waist.

It wasn’t but five weeks later when you shot straight out of bed, rushing to the toilet to throw up. The single word reading pregnant as you took a test that very same day.

#drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #drew starkey #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #obx

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mirukosbitchywife · 1 year

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hawks, miruko, fatgum, midnight and eraserhead x vigilante reader

REPOST the original one got flagged as s3xu4l content even tho it's just fluff :(

vigilante reader is tame basically acting as a pro hero just without the license, mainly focusing on saving people, and therefore none of the heros reallu care. no warnings just pure fluff

hawks/keigo takami:

-keigo would be a vigilante if he wasn't taken in by the commission. 100% he would not have stopped saving lives even if he got in trouble for it. he might even fuck around and manage to get you an actual hero license if you want one, even a fake one to get out of trouble if you need it

-basically. even as the number two hero he's no snitch and in fact really respects what you do. you guys probably met trying to save the same civilian or something and hit it off immediately

-he lets you follow him on patrols, absolutely no fucks. almost everyone thinks you're just one of his sidekicks and you basically act as one without the hero license. would just use his feathers to carry you away from any particularly hard ass heros (cough endeavor cough) if he needs to

-doesn't have a lot of friends but the ones he does have know all about you (including everything keigo gushes to them about you ugh) and they also don't care, they trust him as a person and a hero so by default they trust you

-probably also insists on training you but most of your spars end up in making out because he has no self control when it comes to you but you're not complaining

-end of day routine with keigo would def start with you two dancing in keigos living room, he just sweeps you up and starts dancing out of no where, doesn't even need music, the sound of you laughing at his antics is music enough for him, you've come to expect it every day when he comes home and it's one of the things you miss most when he's gone on a longer mission

-your rough days always end with you flying, even if you can fly using your own quirk, there's something about being held to the chest of the man you love while he flys through the night sky, placing unwavering trust in him to not let you fall while you admire the stars always makes your heart full, and for keigos rough days, you always preen his feathers, he's not used to anyone touching them besides his fans grabbing at him, so nothing relaxes him more than the feeling of your fingers in his feathers, straightening and adjusting them for him as you go

miruko/rumi usagiyama:

-is so aggressively supportive of the vigilante thing she'd see you out beating the shit out of a villain and be like BEAT THEIR ASS BABE GET EM

-insists on you training with her. if you want to be a vigilante you gotta be in shape enough to go toe to toe with the number 5 pro hero

-absolutely kicks your ass in training but it's okay bc she gives you kisses every time you win a match <3

-if you're not immediately recognizable as a vigilante she Will take you to the boring hero shit she has to go with. no one's willing to get close enough to you besides hawks, because if you're with her she'll glare down anyone who tries to approach her and hawks is the only one brave enough to get closer (she also trusts hawks the most out of all of them and knows hes no snitch)

-has a sixth sense for when you're in trouble, so if you're ever in over your head in the same city as her ur opponent better start praying

-on especially hard days for you, rumi gives a mean back massage that leaves you putty in her hands, on rumis hard days you always do her hair. she finds it so relaxing and loves the styles you do on her and will proudly wear whatever you did as long as she can

fatgum/taishiro toyomitsu:

-taishiro is just That Guy yk u guys probably met because he picked you up by your scruff during a fight you were losing and he jumped in all heroic like *swoons*

-him being That Guy /pos and all his only reaction after dealing with the villain is to put you down and be like woah. hello person i have never seen in my life before this very second right now. you should hurry along i don't want any civilians caught in the cross hairs when the police arrive. anyway random stranger i've never seen ever you should totally come by my hero agency and train in case you know. you get caught close to another villain attack

-guys got a heart proportional to the rest of him how could you not do anything for him he's sunshine personified. if he said jump you'd ask how high he's just got that affect

-he's probably the most chill pro hero aside from like. aizawa. you know how like the bigger the dog the more chill they get (usually). yeah same affect with him he minds his business stays in his lane does heroic deeds on the reg yk

- his favorite thing to do with you is spend time with you laying on top of him <33 he usually takes up all the space on wherever he's lying but no complaints can be heard when you get to cuddle on top of him all night

-end of day routine with taishiro would pretty much be him coming home from work, flopping on the couch, and dragging you to lay on top of him to doze until the food he ordered arrives (even if you wanted to there's no way you could cook for tai after work, you'd have a hard enough time cooking for Any pro hero let alone one who's quirk is dependent on food)

-your rough days usually entail you crawling inside his shirts to be closer to him (in my mind his clothes are probably usually baggy because they need to be able to withstand his full size and after a day at work he'd probably be at least somewhat smaller) and him allowing you to curl up on him like a cat (he probably also pets ur hair like a cat but we don't need to mention that), his rough days probably entail something like baking treats together!! he seems like the kind of guy who really really enjoys quality time with a s/o and combining that with food? his bad day melts away immediately

midnight/nemuri kayama:

-honestly you're probably not even the first vigilante she's dated, if there's one thing nemuri is gonna do it's whatever the fuck she wants lmao

-she's def the type of person to be like rules are meant to be broken

-nemuri LOVES going out with you, you better pray you don't have a recognizable face because there's no way you're getting out of going out to dinner and her dragging you shopping and her showing you off any chance she gets(not that you'd want to get out of that stuff i mean. it's nemuri)

-nemuri prefers working night shifts even when not working at ua so she can force you to take a break when she takes hers and she always packs you food <3

-she also prefers night shifts so you both can protect each other, shadowing one another in case one of you gets over your heads, the other one never being too far

-she probably has a lot of cats and by default they're your cats so usually while nemuris gone at ua you're playing with her cats. (nemuri probably has hundreds of pictures of you with a cat on top of you after you fell asleep)

-her favorite time of day is when you're both home and sweaty from fighting, your end of day routine always starts with taking a bath together, washing grime off the other, using the tenderness to reset your minds after a long day

-she loves to pamper you, do your nails, face masks, anything you want ,and uses her quirk slightly on you after a particularly rough day, and for her rough days you always make sure she gets a foot massage and glass of wine with a book <3

eraserhead/shouta aizawa:

-same shit different day yeah? he probably mostly has vigilante friends if we're honest (aside from hizashi and nemuri of course)

-is definitely used to dealing with vigilantes both a professional and unprofessional sense, nothing you can do will shock him, and you can always count on him to save your ass when things go south, it's like he has a second quirk with the way he's able to sense when you're either about to do something stupid or about to die. usually both.

-you guys patrol at night together, you both prefer working when you know the other is somewhere nearby in case things go south, and more often than not you take cases on together (although Technically it's just him on the paperwork)

-omg what if you guys meet because he saw you feeding a cat and snuck up on you only for you to. notice him? holy shit?? you could sense his presence?? he was flabbergasted. that like never fucking happens

-end of day routine is you bullying him into a shower with you and him making you wash his hair as payment. literally a fucking cat. we both know he wouldn't shower after patrol alone he'd just go to sleep.

-your rough days always end up with you in a caterpillar looking ass sleeping bag with shouta but you'd have it no other way. his rough days are full of cat cafes. they just relax him like nothing else

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consultingskeletondetective · 4 months

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Take it, it's yours

Captain Price takes your virginity, of course he's a gentleman about it. Price x female!reader.

masterlist 🩷 ao3

tags: loss of virginity, vaginal sex, unsafe sex, praise kink

You’d been drunk when you’d admitted it, cheeks on fire and not nearly as embarrassed as you should have been. When Captain Price asked if you were dating anyone and you told him you were scared to lose your virginity, scared that it would hurt - you wanted to do it with someone that you trusted. He’d chuckled around his cigar, reminded you you were still young - there’s plenty of time, love - and then you’d really blushed.

“Would you take it for me?” You’d asked shyly. Price had frozen, it was nearly funny, fingers on his whiskey stilling as he stared at you. “I mean, if you don’t want to, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, no.” His voice was more gruff than usual, his eyes still on you. “I’ll do it.”

You were sober now, in Price’s bunk. His thick and large body was lying between your legs, covers pulled up to your shoulders, his hairy chest pressing against your tits as he nudged his cock against your entrance.

You bit your lip.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said under his breath, smiling down at you. You relaxed a little, you tried not to shake, when you felt his cockhead pressing in you and your back arched off of the bed, fists in the sheets.

“Relax, little one,” he said, stilling, “hold on to me, yeah?”

It took some coaxing, but your hands found his meaty shoulders, gripping hard as you willed your breathing to slow. “C-Captain…!”

He chuckled again warmly, “I think we’re a bit past that now, love, eh? Call me John.”

You watched him, his eyes watching you, his lips open and panting, breath smelling like cigar smoke and whiskey and gunpowder. His eyes flickered before he was leaning down and kissing you gently. You moaned, his beard tickling your lips, and he took the distraction to feed a little bit more of his cock into your cunt.

You choked. “S-so big, John,” you whined, “you’re so big…”

“Fuck,” he panted, arms trembling on either side of your head, voice a low growl, “you’re so fucking tight, love. Not even, not even half of my cock in there.”

“Really?” You watched him with big eyes, “there’s more?”

His lips twitched up and he stroked your hair from your face, watching you for any signs of discomfort, as he slowly moved his hips back, and then forward. The covers rustled around the movement, and his cock shifted, not deeper, not right now, just in and out, until your slick was soaking the first few inches of his cock. The squelch was quiet, but it was there.

“Not hurting you?” He grunted as he moved.

You shook your head. “No.”

He hummed in approval, eyes losing focus as he disappeared into your tight, wet cunt in that agonisingly slow pace.

“It feel good, love?”

“It - it feels normal.” You admitted shyly.

“‘Kay, I’m gonna go a bit deeper.”

You didn’t say anything, he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world as he pressed a few more inches of his cock inside you, making you gasp, and resumed his slow, steady fuck.

You let out a stuttered breath without warning and Price smiled hugely, his laugh lines deep, as he stroked your hair again. “That’s it, love, that’s what we want.”

“John,” you choked out, hands migrating from his shoulders to his hips, toes curling in the small of his back. Your cunt was soaking, sucking him in, pleasure spiralling out from that sweet little spot inside you in a way you’d never felt before. “Feels so good, oh my god, please - please go faster.”

“You want more?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm. Not yet, love, just let yourself get used to this first, eh?”

You whined and buried your head in his neck, his constant, steady thrusts pressing up against your swelling sweet spot then leaving again. The pressure ebbed and faded and you felt like you were going mad, until it started to stay when his cock wasn’t even that deep in you, then got more intense when his crown kissed it again. You babbled helplessly, no idea what to do with your legs as you kicked uselessly against Price’s back muscles, feeling them contracting as he fucked you.

“I - I - don’t, what’s…fuck, oh my god, fuck��”

Price’s deep eyes were intense. His chest was sweating against yours, the coarse hair around his pectorals brushing against your sensitive nipples and making you buck.

“You’re going to cum, love,” he said softly, voice deep and wrecked, “don’t panic, just let it happen.”

Your eyebrows tweaked and you tried to watch his face for as long as you could before your eyes rolled back and the pleasure peaked inside your cunt, rushing through your whole body. You shook under him, cunt clenching so hard on his cock that you thought he was going to slip out of you. Price stopped moving, watching you as you came and spasmed all over his cock, leaking white down his length. It seemed to go on forever, even as your heart rate began to calm. Price cursed, and reared back a little, the covers falling around his hips and revealing more of him to you as he pulled his cock out of your heat with his hand. It looked as big as it felt, wet at the tip and down to the thick curve, then dry all the rest of the way to his balls. They were tight, and heavy, and for a mad second you thought you wanted to lick them. You also noticed, with embarrassment, that there was a string of slick connecting the tip of his cock to your pussy hole, and the sheets beneath had a nice, wet patch.

“Why did you pull out?” You asked, eyes slack, wondering if you’d done something wrong.

Price braced his large, veined hand on your knee, breathing heavily. He gave you a gentle smile. “‘Cause you were clenching on my cock so damn hard I thought you were going to milk the cum right outta me.”

You blushed, and pushed yourself up a little. “Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?” You asked. “I came, now you cum too?”

He glanced up at you and there was something mischievous in those deep eyes. It was these looks that reminded you of how much older he was, and how much that turned you on.

“Uh uh, that’s not how this works, darlin’.” He took his hand off of your knee, and instead stroked his own cock, spreading your slick down to his base. “I don’t cum until you’re spent.”

“But I came?” You nearly whispered, watching his hand on his cock almost jealousy.

“Mhmm.” He growled. “And I bet you’ve got a few more in there for me.”

He laid back between your legs, tapping your pussy with his hard cock and you jolted, before he fed it back into your cunt. He was easier to take this time, you were looser, but your walls were so sensitive you gasped and bucked.

“Oh, John, please-”

He fucked you again, a little harder this time, a little faster, and the effect was immediate. You arched your back and moaned loudly, it was a miracle you didn’t wake up the rest of the squad, that pleasure from before came back but stronger, faster, building in you at an alarming rate until you were digging your nails into Price’s chest, feeling his whole body flex as he fucked you. His large hand travelled up your belly, cupping your tits and he groaned. “Fuck, baby, that’s it, choke my fucking cock, do it again.”

You came as if on command, clenching so hard on Price’s cock that he groaned and stilled, letting you spasm and shake and orgasm.

“You feel incredible, love.” He murmured, fucking you with tiny, abortive little thrusts that had you yelping.

“Look at your fucking cunt,” he said in reverence, watching your soaked labia and your entrance twitch around him. “So fucking sexy, baby, and I haven’t even touched your clit yet.”

He pressed two of his fingers around your clit, revealing the shining nub to him, his other hand rubbing over it as he continued those shallow thrusts and your eyes burst open, gripping around his wrist, mouth curving open as he stroked you damn near mercilessly. Your clit twitched under the attention.

“You’re going to cum again,” he told you gruffly, “can feel it. Let go, love, give it to me.”

You tried to answer him, but nothing came out but a moan as you felt yourself soak his cock, your thighs twitching around his thick waist.

“That’s it, fucking good girl,” he growled, still stroking your clit, except now moisture was flying everywhere. You couldn’t cope, collapsing back onto the bed and twitching helplessly.

You’d played with yourself countless times in the past but you’d never made yourself cum as intensely and as much as John Price could, the man was a god, and it must have shown on your face when he turned your chin to him to get your full attention, watching your eyes as he finally, finally sunk the full length of his cock in you, his balls slapping against your ass, and you groaned in sync.

Your feet locked against the small of his back, keeping him deep as he fucked you again, quick little thrusts that pressed him so deep and fast you knew this was what heaven felt like.

“John,” you whimpered, your whole body jerking wildly as you cupped his jaw, “you feel so good, I can’t stop.”

He didn’t look unaffected, his eyes were wild and his lips were parted, grunting with each thrust.

“M’not gonna last, love.” He finally grunted out, hips not slowing, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and under your fingertips. “You’re going to make me cum.”

“Need you to cum, John,” you begged, rolling your hips down to meet his cock. His jaw clenched then and his hips stuttered. “Want to feel it in me.”

Despite everything, he gave you a rough chuckle. “Not happening, love. I’m too old to have kids, and you’re too young.”

You pouted until you forgot all about it and you came again, squirting messily around Price’s cock and he cursed loudly, pulling out of you quickly. He stroked his cock, base to tip, just the once before he was grunting and cumming all over your stomach.

You watched his cumming cock jerking and spewing thick white ropes that burned your belly where they landed, and your cunt clenched around nothing, before your head flopped back and you struggled to breathe.

There was nothing between you but heavy breathing for a moment before Price was climbing up next to you, pulling you in tight to his sweaty, hairy chest. You could feel his heart beating like mad against your cheek.

“Now,” he still sounded breathless, “not bad for a first time, eh?”

“No,” you agreed with a shy giggle, looking up at him with big eyes. “Thank you.”

He laughed. It was a warm sound, a lovely sound. “You don’t need to thank me for having sex with you, love, I’m the one that lucked out.”

“Really?” You blushed, stroking along his scarred, muscled arms where they held you.

He hummed in response and you let your eyes close against his chest.

“You can sleep, love,” he murmured against the top of your head, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?” You asked tiredly.

You just felt his fingers stroking along your back.

“Not until you send me away.”

You fell asleep after that, too warm and happy and lax to fight it, but just about remembered thinking - well, that’s not going to happen.

#fanfiction #call of duty #cod #price x reader #captain price #john price #price cod #smut #cod smut

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toms-cherry-trees · 1 year

Text

Thrilling Chase || Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: All the girls want him. One does not. And he wants her

Word Count: 1551

Warnings: Not really. Aemond being a bit more of book Aemond than show Aemond and being overall annoyed with life

Author’s note: I dreamt this plot Sunday night and spend the entire day racking my brains to turn it into a fic. Please let me know about any errors, I am still polishing my English. Also this Aemond I am not sure I got the characterization right but I liked how it turned out. And remember I interact from @finite--incantatem

The ball is being hosted with the purpose of celebrating Aegon’s nameday. What better way to celebrate the anniversary of his birth than being surrounded by fine drinks and lovely ladies, a field full of flower buds for him to pick and spoil? Aemond can barely stand the frivolous pomp and pageantry, the ass kissing lords showering his brother and father in banal pleasantries and praises, as if any one of them paid any heed to such flummery; one too inebriated to care and the other unable to hear anything above his own wheezing.

Aemond has tried to excuse himself three times before the feast has even been served; as dutiful as he could be, even he has a limit, and his limit has been long surpassed by this insufferable event. But his weak spot has overcome his distaste, in the form of his gentle mother, who implores him to play the part for the evening. His sweet mother, who does everything in her power for the family to present a united front, all while sweeping the shambles behind the drapes. Only for her happiness is he willing to endure this foolery.

He hoped that chatting up some minor lordlings and not yawning before them would be enough to fulfil his obligations; but he has not accounted for the unwanted feminine attention. Aemond thought his physical imperfections and his downright hostile demeanour would be enough to ward off the ladies, but he could not deny the facts; as the eldest bachelor in the family, he remains a coveted prize to whom lords would offer their daughters in silver trays. He can vividly imagine them, ambitious men whispering in the ears of their girls and urging them to employ any means necessary to get in Aemond’s good graces. Only then could he explain the parade of fair maidens, all of them more adorned than carnival horses, showering him with their candid smiles and their coy giggles, batting their eyelashes and hinting most cunningly how much they would love to dance. They all seem to ask the same pre thought and bland questions; if one more lady asks to ever see Vhagar, Aemond would go and bring her down to the hall for them to see up close and personal.

Just when he hopes he has done enough to please his mother and the crowds, the first dances begin. One look from the Queen deters his efforts to flee the scene; without word, he has been reminded that his duty has yet to conclude. But Aemond would much rather eat Aegon’s toes than be found dancing with a lady. All his dexterity and gracefulness in the sparring yard do not translate to his waltzing skills; while he could be fast and silent and slippery in the face of the enemy, at the tune of the strings he possesses the elegance of a rotting tomato left in the sun.

The Prince knows the second he sets foot into the dance floor, he will be swarmed with adoring girls. But he cares not for them, since he has already set his eye on one. Just like the others she is burdened by golds and silks and stones, but unlike them, she carries her adornments with such grace and dignity that the opulence of her garments only brings forth her natural beauty.

There is something in her, something unidentifiable and unexplainable, that makes her so…so alluring. It may be the way her lips hold a perennially ineffable smile, so subtle one cannot truly tell it is there, but the mere possibility of its existence is enough to entice the mind.

It could also be her hands. Aemond cannot stop staring at them, from the way her fingers curl around the stem of the goblet, to the particular way they bend when she holds onto the pendant hanging from a fine gold chain around her neck, a subtle move that occurs whenever a young man engages her in conversation. Her left hand holds delicately onto a small fan, although its purpose seems to add to her aura of mysticism rather than keep her cool; her face disappears behind it whenever her smile becomes too wide, only her piercing eyes remaining visible, keeping her expressions unreadable, a most intriguing secret.

Only the greatest artists of the country, working for years on the best of marbles, could even dare to come close to resembling her splendour. The figure of the Maiden brought to life, and that would be a most dashing compliment - for the Goddess.

If he is to dance, he must dance with her.

He cuts through the crowd, moving past wide-eyed ladies and squeezing around dancing couples with one objective in mind. She is right there, standing near the pillar bearing the image of King Jaehaerys. She is alone, and she saw him coming. The proximity of the prey has Aemond on edge, muscles tense and ready to pounce. A man cuts his way, and he pushes him aside vigorously, but it is too late. Her figure has disappeared amongst the crowd like a vision.

Aemond spots her again a few minutes later, near the massive gates of the hall. Once more he approaches her, but he is distracted by his mother asking something, and once more loses his chance. The process repeats several times, with her always standing just at his fingertips but never close enough to grasp, her presence so real yet also so unsubstantial he begins to think he is trapped in a vivid dream.

The Prince is well damn tempted to just order everyone but her out of the chamber, but there is something in the chase, the subtle yet invigorating excitement of the pursuit, the way his pupil is blown wide and his jaw set in concentration. A sensation he has only ever experienced while wielding his sword in the training yards or soaring the skies with his dragon. An unexplainable elation, all due to this little dove who keeps flying away.

Aemond groans in frustration as she evades him once more. How can she be so fast and nimble while wearing a heavy gown? Are the Seven playing a wicked game on him, fate holding the prize above his head just out of reach? He does not care now for dancing nor pleasing his mother. This is a matter of pride; to go through all these obstacles to drop out mid-hunt would be shameful and disappointing.

She is now across the room, now more easily visible due to the dwindling crowds. She is looking straight at him, half her face obscured by her fan. But she pulls it down softly, painfully slow, and Aemond’s heart beats frantically in his chest, like he is witnessing the unveiling of the world’s greatest mystery. The fan rests lightly on her chin, and she rewards the prince with a cunning smirk.

She is doing it on purpose.

It all makes sense now. How could he be so stupid not to realise she has been playing the game alongside him? Evading him and taunting him, letting him think he had her and then slipping away like sand. This newfound knowledge spurs his desires. He needs to have her close, needs to know who she is and why is she doing this to him. His decorum and self-control slips away as a new feeling blooms within him. A warmth blooming in the depths of his body and spreading through his body. The more he cannot have her, the more he wants her. She may be akin to the image of the Maiden, but Aemond is sure the deity has never evoked the thoughts now crossing his mind, nor has any other woman ever before.

Determined to sate his curiosity, and perhaps some other lowly needs, he makes a straight line for her. She does not move nor backs out, and he can already feel the silk of her dress under his fingertips and the scent of her perfume in his nose. He doesn’t understand where the primal urge to crash his lips against hers stem from, but he is ready to give in to that urge as well.

His marching is cut abruptly by the colliding of his body against a long table. He had been so focused and lost, so unlike himself, that he paid no attention to anything or anyone around him, his vision like a tunnel focused upon her. The table is so long he would have to wander half the hall to circumvent it, and he still has enough hold of his wits to know it would be improper to vault over it or slide under the tablecloth. They are so close, yet the brief distance is unbreachable for the time being.

His eye meet hers, the mischief dancing in her pupils. The corners of those soft lips tug just a bit more, sly and bewitching. She backs away slowly, the fan coming up once more to shield her face. She turns around and disappears behind a column amidst the rustle of stiffened skirts and the tinkling of her bracelets

Defeat overcomes the Prince, but a smirk spreads across his own lips. He has not given up the chase; he is just giving the dove a head start before the hunt resumes.

#marsie writes #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond kinslayer #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen one shot #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond stannies

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matryosika · 5 months

Text

Mark; Power Dynamic and Other Analysis

Wordcount: 1,065 words Includes: Silly little headcanons Genre: Smut, 18+ Author’s note: This is purely based on my imagination and the vibes I get from him. You may or may not agree with me, and that’s completely okay —this is only me free associating for a thousand words straight. Please enjoy whatever this is, and don't hesitate to share your thoughts with me! Credits: MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune !

First things first, I sense that Mark loves to be in control.

With that being said, I honestly don't picture him as a hard dominant. He might not even care about roles, anyway, but he is naturally leaning towards the dominant side.

He is really playful with the role, though. Mark is such a tease, and really creates an environment in which you can feel comfortable. He takes it upon himself to reassure you in every step of the fucking way —if he feels like you’re shying away from him, he would do anything just to bring you back to him.

For instance, I feel like one of his priorities in bed is to make sure you feel comfortable exposing yourself to him. I can really see him being into body worshiping and might even kneel in front of you and kiss your body from head to toe, whispering sweet nothings while asking all the right questions: "do you like it when I kiss you like this?, "does it feel good?", "do you want me touch you here?", and so on.

Despite the natural dominance I see in him, I do feel like he can get needier and more desperate than you, and he is not really ashamed of expressing it. This man is whiny, might even beg you to let him please you. And it's good that he is very talkative, because I just know his voice gets deeper and raspier in sexual contexts. At the same time, he is not really that loud; it's all whispers and murmurs, half of his words are muffled because he just has to have his lips attached to your skin and flesh.

But when I say he is talkative, I mean it. The type to curse under his breath, and even start rambling about how much he loves you and how good you're making him feel. At one point he stops making any sense, because he is no longer thinking with his head but his dick.

Mark might seem shy and collected at first, but I feel like the most he progresses into a sexual encounter, the less timid and more primal he becomes.

But even then, I don't picture him as someone who might enjoy degrading or humiliating you, and certain practices like impact play might be a big no for him. I feel like he could try if you asked him to, but I don't think he would enjoy it just for the sake of slapping or spanking you. If he does enjoy it, it's probably out of ego —the fact that you're trusting him enough to ask him such things, and that you're enjoying them.

But, willingly, I don't think Mark would ever inflict pain on you like that.

Overstimulation and denial, however, are a whole other topic for him. He doesn't mind hurting you a little if he knows you can take it, and that it can become pleasure in exchange for a little pain —the way he proves your loyalty is through how good you're at following his orders and how willing you're to leave your pleasure aside, or endure a little pain, just because he asked you to.

Mark is a hopeless romantic, and that translates into sex as a somewhat possessive partner. He is only yours, as long as you prove to him that you're only his. He is going to love you passionately if only you can do the same for him; he never hesitates when it comes to you, and he expects you to be the same when it comes to him.

Because of this passion and intensity, I think he is very much the jealous type. Get jealous easily, and might act a little bit impulsive on it. Also, he isn't afraid of bringing said topics with you —if something bothers him, he will tell you without beating around the bush. It may conflict him, and he might get shy when talking to you about whatever it was that upsetted him, but he never keeps such things for himself.

That's kind of relevant because I think the possessive, jealous part of him really makes an appearance in bed —he wants to hear you say how you belong to him, and him only; how your body it's only his to touch and kiss, how you don't want anyone else but him.

Mark wants everything there is of you —your mind, heart and body.

And that's why sex is always so intense; not necessarily rough, but emotionally I feel like he brings a shit ton of vulnerability and he needs you to do the same. Sex with him it's always so fucking intimate, and it can get really filthy because trust is one of the most important things for him —he doesn't care about the mess, as long as it is your mess (with this I mean like certain fluids or things one might find disgusting, but to him they really aren’t).

He might be an experimentalist; he is willing to try everything at least once before deciding if he is into it or not. He’s also pretty good at communicating and putting his thoughts and emotions into words, so that gives me the impression that he is really in touch with himself and his preferences.

So, going back to the power dynamic bit, I don't see Mark willingly and fully submitting to you. Although I said he might not even care about those sorts of roles, I feel like he is the most comfortable with being in charge of your pleasure and his. For some it might be a burden, but not for him —he leans towards dominance naturally, not to assert it but because he likes it.

Mark is always gentle, but in the midst of things I really believe he can manhandle you unintentionally. He might squeeze your hands a bit too harshly, or grip your hips a bit too rough; not to hurt you, but because he loses his mind in between. He gets so drunk on you and your body, that he just forgets the whole world surrounding him but you.

To wrap things up, I must say he is a fucking great kisser. I do see him as someone who kisses sloppily, but in a "I definitely know what I'm doing" kind of way. He bites, and uses tongue, and just makes sure to kiss you deeply until your mouth is full of him. Mark either places his hands on each side of your face or takes you by your waist to press his body against yours.

#nct smut #mark smut #kpop smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #mark lee smut

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yourtongzhihazel · 1 month

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thoughts on anarchism?

The anarchists I've met IRL, especially while organizing, have been some of the most wonderful comrades and I wouldn't hesitate to work with them again. I'm sure there's many online too who're just like them. I do admire how quickly they are willing to use direct action, even if it's not the best tactic to be used or the only means to an end. Some anarchist ideas, while not necessarily achievable on a large scale, are certainly is very helpful for short term, small scale survival, like mutual aid for example.

Anarchism as an ideology though, I do have strong disagreements with. When I was first dipping my toes into studying political-economy, I had a very brief time where I was following both anarchist and marxist accounts and forums. And often, when I asked the marxists a question about how things would or potentially could work, they could point to real examples as much as they could theoretical ones, and they could point out the pros and cons of their own systems. But when I asked anarchists similar questions, there was generally a kind of hesitancy or wishy-washiness or vagueness which I really didn't get from the marxists. As a poc, I remember a black man had asked anarchists what the solution to a group of racist factory workers voting him out of their work force was and no one had any answers beyond, "well at that stage you really wouldn't expect racism on that level". But the marxists would say racism is a social ill that takes time to combat, even after the revolution thus the proletarian state exists to ensure cases like that are investigated and corrected. A more poignant example would be like the Chinese trans woman who sued her former place of work for firing her for being trans and the state sided with and supported her rights. In some ways, I think I was always inevitably going to go down the marxist route given my family background, but that's not to say I didn't give anarchism a fair shot in the beginning.

More theoretically, the roots of anarchism has always been deeply entwined with petite bourgeois ideology. Similar to liberalism, it supposes that the liberation of the collective comes from the liberation of the self. That's not to say anarchists are liberals (well, actual anarchists anyway), but rather, has been influenced by a deeply individualistic ideology like liberalism. The reason we marxists tend to call anarchists idealists can mainly stem from our biggest disagreement, which is the utilization of the state. It's unreasonable to destroy the greatest tool a class has in the class war once that class gets its hands on it, especially since the bourgeoisie have no qualms about using it as a bludgeon against the proletariat. The state has always been used as a mediator for class warfare and whichever class controls it controls the arbitration on class conflict. Like it or not, revolution, just like the construction of socialism, will come at different times with different arising conditions for every country. It's simply not enough to rely on hopes of either a total revolution or to defend your own revolution without the tools provided by a state. After the October Revolution, the nascent USSR was invaded by over 20 foreign countries and they threw them all out. During the second world war, more than 4 million fascists were killed on the eastern front and the Red Army marched into Berlin in the end. Both feats would be impossible without strong state apparatuses. There's more to it than just this, of course. If you want, you can read a (admittedly, pretty scathing) critique by J.V. Stalin, Anarchism or Socialism?, for some more detailed information.

My last point is that in many online spaces, there's no doubt a big overlap between radlibs and anarchism or at the very least, anarchist aesthetics. I can't tell you how many times I've been called some slur or 'tankie' or some variation of the two by someone presenting themselves to be anarchist who then turn around and say the most unbelievably liberal talking points. I've now come to realize that the reason for this overlap is two-fold. The first is that in liberal democracies, where individualism is extremely strong and thus anarchism, as a more individualistic ideology, appeals more to radlibs. The second is that anarchism is very easily marketable, even more so than marxism. These two kind of go hand-in-hand as well.

In the west and usamerica in particular, we don't have much of a choice in regards to who we side with and I would actually take an anarchist comrade over the "queering the MIC" libs in the DSA or whatever. I'll still jest about about anarchism tho.

#hazel's press releases

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mavrintarou · 4 months

Text

[3:45PM] Suna Rintarou (prequel of DD) [2]

Happy birthday to Suna Rintarou! I know I've made him a clingy fox but I honestly think this man is a clingy fox when he's in love.

Warning: clingy man and smut (18+)

Prequel (part 1) Prequel (part 3)

“So, what’s going on with you and this woman?” Osamu inquired, his brow furrowed in curiosity.

The glass cup froze at Rin’s lips, and the whiff of yeast in the beer hit his senses. Gulping his beer, he set the cup down. “It’s going…”

When he woke up alone in his bed two days ago, he was slapped in the face with disappointment and anger.

“Haah…” a bitter laugh escapes his dry lips, lips that he could still taste her from hours ago.

Rin slams his fist into the pillow she was sleeping on out of anger and frustration.

He frowned when his fist came into contact with what seemed to be a piece of paper.

Hey sleepy head,

I tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t budge. I was called in for an overnight flight, there was no one else near that could do it so I had to go.

I’ll text you when I land in Istanbul.

Y/n

Rin waited for her text like an obedient puppy that entire day.

Looking back, he can’t remember the last time he was excited to receive a text message.

[**note: The green color text is dialogue text message exchanged in the past]

Hey.

After leaving him hanging for over 15 hours, he can’t say he was elastic to receive a Hey from her.

Hey you. He texted back.

She quickly responded As I promised, I’d text you when I landed. Were you upset when I wasn’t there when you woke up?

Yes. He texted back. Very upset.

A little taste of your own medicine? :P

Rin let out a scoff.

Don’t be mad, I left you a note though, right?

She did, unlike him.

You did, not mad at all, sad but not mad. When can I see you again? He sounded desperate and was desperate, but he didn’t care.

I thought you said one date.

He chewed his lip, and quickly typed I didn’t specify…

You mean you haven’t had your full fill of me yet?

“No,” Rin answered out loud, his fingers quickly typing his response. Fuck no. If I didn’t make it very clear, Y/l/n Y/f/n, I’m very interested in you and want to get to know you more. He doesn’t know where this confidence is coming from, but he is going to piggyback off of it before he loses it. I don’t mean it as in your body, that’s a bonus. I know we are very compatible in bed, you can’t deny that. But I want to get to know you on a mental and emotional level too. And other physical levels too.

When he didn’t see her respond quickly, he groaned. She had the power to put him on his toes, he was willing to admit he was wrapped around her fingers.

His phone finally dinged a notification.

I’ll be home on the 25th.

It’s the 25th and he hasn’t heard from her, the last time they spoke was more than 48 hours ago.

Boundaries, his conscience is always reminding him. As if the universe is watching him and shaking their heads, they have been sending all sorts of videos and posts about dating. He’s been seeing them all over his social media platforms. He began watching dating tips and it opened his eyes.

But today was his birthday, and she said she would be home on his birthday. She didn’t specifically say on his birthday but on the 25th, his birthday, so he was going to convince himself she was returning for his birthday.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Hey, are you free for a call?

Instead of replying, he called her.

“Hey,” he breathed. He hurried out of the bar and shuffled away from the loud noise coming from the entrance of the bar.

“Am I… catching you at a bad time?”

God, I missed her voice, Rin thought.

“No,” his breath is visible against the cold January night air. “Are you home?”

“Yeah,” she sounded like she was shuffling around, “just ended my shift. Are you… still down to meet?”

Rin looked at his watch, it was already 10 PM, was she… implying…

“I’m out at the bar at the moment, do you want to come out?”

It was a moment of silence before she replied, “sure, text me the address.”

Twenty minutes later, Rin kept looking at the door, his eyes instantly at the door every time it opened but would look away disappointed when it wasn’t the person he was waiting for.

Atsumu followed his gaze, “are you waiting on your girl? Is she coming here?”

The corner of Rin’s mouth curved into a smirk, his girl. “Yeah, she’s coming.”

At last, the person he’d been waiting for walked through the door and glanced around the place. Standing up, Rin marches over towards her.

Y/n smiles the moment their eyes meet, “hey – “

The rest of her words are cut off as Rin pulls her into a hug. It was a full-on bear hug, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck and shoulder. “Missed you…”

Y/n pulls back and frowns, “had a lot to drink already?”

He nodded his head, his bangs flapping.

Y/n reached to brush his bangs away, “where’s your table at?”

He shook his head, grabbing her hands and bringing them to his chest. “Let’s go…”

“Go where? Shouldn’t we at least say hang out for a little bit – “

“No, we can go, go anywhere… I’ve had enough drinks for the night.” It was true, he didn’t want to drink anymore now that Y/n was here right beside him. He just wants alone time with her.

He groaned when he heard his name being called by Miya twins. Looking over his shoulder, he cast a glare at them to shut up but that only taunts them to shout his name even more.

Before he could do something, Y/n dragged him towards the table.

“Oho! You’re Suna’s girl?” Atsumu’s loud voice rang throughout the bar. “I’m Atsumu, this is Osamu, we’re high school buddies of Suna’s.”

Y/n smiled at them returning the greeting and all Rin could think about was how he was not happy to share her smile with his friends. Her smile was his and his only.

“Okay, Suna, stop glaring at us, go.” Osamu waved his hand in a shooing manner. “Happy birthday by the way.”

Rin watched Y/n’s eyes widen before she looked at him, “that’s right, it’s your birthday!” She leaned over and waved at a waitress, “a round of beer and shots at table 3 please!”

“Rin…” Y/n shakes him by his chin, “put in your passcode…”He opened his tired eyes and stared at his door lock, his mouth opened but Y/n covered his mouth before he could speak. “Just press it, don’t say it.”

He moved her hand, mumbling, “how do you not know…”

Y/n frowned, “I don’t know and I shouldn’t know your passcode, we’re not that close yet.”

Rin stood on his own and held a finger, “watch,” he used that finger to press his passcode in. “Now, you know.”

Y/n looks away with a smile tugging at her lips, “get inside.” She pulls at the door and drags him inside.

His head was pounding. He stares at the ceiling contemplating his life choices from last night.

A sigh of relief comes from his left and his head turns immediately.

He was 99% sure it was Y/n with her back facing him but there was that 1% that left him feeling uneasy. He couldn’t remember how he made it home but he was sure that he remembered seeing Y/n come to the bar… it was everything after that that he had no recollection of.

It was most definitely Y/n, she fit perfectly beside him just as he remembered. Carefully, he leaned over to get a glimpse and silently sighed in relief when it was her.

His brows frowned when he noticed the fresh blue-purple bruise on her right cheekbone. Without thinking, he flipped her on her back, waking her up. “What happened to your face?” He carefully cupped her face, his breath hitching when she flinched. “Who hurt you? Who gave you this bruise?”

“You, you did,” Y/n murmured, closing her eyes. “I’m very tired, I haven’t slept in over 24 hours. So let me sleep please.” She shifts and wiggles until she can pull the covers over her.

That’s when Rin realized they had been sleeping on top of his comforters instead of under.

He rolled her on her back again, “I’ll let you sleep in a bit but tell me, how did I give you this bruise? Did – did I hit you?”

She opened her left eye and stared at him. Genuine concern was written on his face making her think twice before she teased him. She didn’t doubt at all that he would ever lay his hand on a woman in violent ways, she can only imagine all the things running in his head. “No, Rin, you did not hit me. You head-butt me instead, on accident of course.”

She explained how she brought him inside and was trying to get him in bed when he tripped and knocked the both of them on his bed. His head collided with her cheek painfully hard making her see stars for a few seconds. He knocked out, locking her beneath him. She had no choice but to just throw his comforters over them instead of getting under.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, eyes on her bruise. “Can I… sleep beside you?”

“Sure,” she smiled tiredly and closed her eyes, instantly falling asleep once again.

She must have been so tired and she still came out to the bar. He thought to himself. As gently as possible without waking her up, he pulled the comforters up to her chin. She was so deeply asleep she didn’t stir when he pressed a kiss to her temple and a faint one to the bruise.

Y/n was not used to having someone cuddle against her, let alone a 6’3 grown man.

But she didn’t have the heart to wake him up.

Looking at her watch, it was the late afternoon already. They had slept their entire day away.

That was something she was used to, whenever she would return from flying halfway around the world. She would need half a day to a whole day to readjust to the time zone.

Except this last flight. She left in a hurry as soon as she could and dropped off her luggage at home. She should have showered and would have but he had called her.

She quickly sprayed some perfume and left her place to meet him.

Y/n couldn’t count how many times she had reread his text message.

I don’t mean it as in your body, that’s a bonus. I know we are very compatible in bed, you can’t deny that. But I want to get to know you on a mental and emotional level too.

If she was honest with herself, she would say Rin was head over heels for her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to it, but she had never had someone younger than her show this much interest in her. She would admit that she did not realize how much younger he was to her. She thought he was her age if not older.

With her lifestyle revolving around her career, having a committed relationship was not a priority for her. If it wasn’t for his persistence and foolishness in kneeling in front of her in public, she would not have given him a second chance.

It’s an unspoken rule that you don’t have second times with the same person that was meant to be a one-night stand.

But Y/n herself… couldn’t help but give in to him.

Enjoy it while you can, she told herself.

A low groan rumbled from the body that was squishing her, “are you hungry?”

Y/n thought for a second before responding, “yes, now that you mentioned it.”

Rin lifts his head off her shoulder, his hair flopped upward messily. His eyes zeroed in on her bruise. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“Did it get uglier?” Her tone is teasing, she reaches to touch it but Rin catches her wrist.

“No, take this as a compliment but you can make a bruise look beautiful.” He kissed her knuckles. “Come, let’s go get something to eat.”

Rin didn’t want to part from her. He had a feeling they would go their way after this meal.

He had ordered food and had it delivered to his place to avoid having Y/n go out in public with the bruise on her cheek.

So he took his merry time eating his hangover Miso soup.

He turned a blind eye each time she would tilt her watch to check the time.

“Are you regretting your life choices with alcohol and beer?” Y/n teased watching him sigh and stare at his soup. Y/n frowned when he looked up at her like a child afraid to ask a question. “What?”

“Are you going to leave after this?” He finally asked the question that had been eating him up inside.

“Do you not have work tomorrow?”

He shook his head, “no, I have the rest of the week off.” He waited a heartbeat before asking, “what about you?”

It was Y/n’s longer time off. Once a month, she’ll get four to five days off before resuming her hectic schedule again. Usually with her time off, she spent the time relaxing and running any errands she needed to while home.

Without any set plans, she caught on to his clear obvious hint. Y/n, in a playful yet earnest manner, narrowed her eyes at him and inquired, “why do you ask?”

“Because I want to hang out with you.” He answered right away. “We could do anything you want…” He looked at her with waiting eyes, “I just want to be with you.”

Y/n couldn’t resist the delight of being desired by someone, particularly someone as captivating as Rintarou. His charm and voice had her completely enchanted, and the more time she spent with him, the more spellbound she became. Is he completely unaware that his words to her evoked sensations in her heart that she had only fantasized about?

Being the one to break the intense staring going on between them, she could feel her face warming up. “I have tomorrow off as well,” she stated, locking eyes with him once more, this time with more confidence. “So, what should we do?”

Rintarou did not peg Y/n as one to enjoy horror films. His intentions after she allowed him to choose a film, a horror film, was to have her cuddle against him so he could wrap his arms protectively around her.

Instead, he sat beside her, pouting as Y/n’s full undivided attention was set on the film.

It was like she forgot he was there. Like she forgot she was supposed to cuddle beside him and let him make her feel safe.

After they finished their meals, Y/n was going to go back to her place to change and shower and return but Rin held on to the end of her shirt like a lost puppy

“Just use my bathroom…” he begged, staring at her with puppy begging eyes.

“What about clothes?”

You don’t need clothes, he wanted to say. “Just use my clothes…” After those words left his lips, he realized he may not survive if he saw her wearing his clothes.

Y/n sighed, she did not like clingy behaviors but she couldn’t bring herself to say no or deny him.

“Fine…”

His invisible puppy ears perked up and his tails wagged excitedly. “Want to shower together?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she laughed.

After her quick shower, she came out wearing a baggy shirt of his with his sweatpants.

Rin looked away and tried to distract his mind with other thoughts to prevent a boner from happening.

His fists had been clutching tightly to his sweatpants for almost the last hour, did she not realize what she was doing to him sitting next to him wearing his clothes?

He cleared his throat for the fourth time and slowly, her chin turned towards him but her eyes couldn’t leave the screen.

The plot of the film had finally reached the truth behind all the paranormal activities.

“Y/n,” Rin whispered.

Her chin was still tilted in his direction except her eyes. “Hmm?”

“Is this film that good?” He’d heard good reviews on this film, but all he could watch was her.

She hummed after a few seconds.

“Can we cuddle?”

At last, her eyes finally left the screen and looked at him. She scooted closer and curled against his side after fully comprehending his question. “Is that why you huffin’ and puffin’ over there?”

He hummed after a few seconds, a smile on his face, finally satisfied. He hooked an arm beneath her knees and threw her legs over his lap. “This is much better.”

Ten minutes into the film, she felt his head rest against the crook of her neck and shoulder. His warm breath was steadily fanning her neck and collarbone.

He had fallen asleep.

As soon as the film was over, Y/n reached for the remote without moving too much to wake him up.

“Is it finally over?”

“Yep,” she answered, “that was one hell of a plot twist that you missed out on.”

Rin’s arms tightened around her and he hummed against her neck, rubbing his nose against her pulse. “Tell me about it, please?”

Turning off the TV, Y/n saw their reflection on the TV screen. With their height difference, his neck was awkwardly angled so his head could rest on her shoulder.

“If you’re tired, go to bed.”

He shook his head, squeezing her waist. “I’m tired but I don’t want to go to bed.” When she lifted her hand and threaded her fingers through his hair, he nearly let out a moan when her nails began massaging his scalp.

His lips pressed against her pulse in a kiss before he nipped the skin there but was immediately stopped by Y/n who shifted away and gripped his chin, “don’t mark me.”

Rin didn’t mask his disappointment and muttered, “fine.”

Her lips curved as she squeezed his cheeks, making his lips pucker, “tell me,” her voice dropped an octave lower, “why are you hard?”

With his lips still puckered he responded, “blame it on your thighs.” He pulls away from her grip and squeezes her thigh which is pressed against his cock. Ever since he pulled her legs over his lap, he couldn’t get the thought of her riding him out of his head, which was why he had to force himself to sleep the rest of the film.

His little nap only worsened as he had enough time to dream about Y/n riding him.

“It’s so… squishy…” he squeezed harder, making her squirm in his lap. “And soft…” He leaned forward until their lips were closed, “and I want to bury my face between them…” He didn’t miss the hitch in her breath. “So what do you say, Y/n?”

“Less talking and more doing, Rin…”

In an instant, she’s flipped onto her back on the couch with Rin kneeling in between her legs. His fingers grip the waistband of his sweatpants on her and frowned, “no panties?” The smirk on her face answered his question. Tugging off his sweatpants, he confirmed his suspicion. “Can’t believe you sat on my lap practically with no panties.” Hooking both her legs over his shoulders, he grins happily at her before his face disappears in between her legs.

Y/n buckled against his lips, thighs crushing against his head. “Rin,” she choked out his name and moaned loudly when two fingers thrust knuckles deep. “Oh God…”

She looked down at the man, his eyes were already on her, staring straight at her as he feasted on her.

With his other free hand, he slipped it inside his shirt she was wearing and groaned when his palm touched her tit. She was wearing no bra beneath his shirt. His cock twitched, nearly cumming from being excited.

“Rin… Rin please…”

He suckled her clit before letting it go with a pop. “Please?”

Widening her legs, and freeing his head, she begged, “you… I want you.”

Rin lets out a shaky laugh and straightens himself. Hearing her say she wanted him nearly undoes him in ways he has never realized. He pushed his waistband down and frees his cock.

He tugs Y/n until she is flat on her back and her ass is hanging off the couch before hiking her legs over his shoulders. Rin pulls the end of his shirt to his lips and bites down on the material before guiding his cock to the wet and glossy pussy.

“Argh,” he lets out a low growl and pushes until he is fully inside her.

He starts with slow and steady thrusts, savoring how her pussy is tightly hugging his cock.

Y/n’s lewd soft moans hypnotize him making him want to slow down or else he may just cum embarrassingly fast.

“Rin – Rin,” she reaches to rub her clit but he slapped her hand away.

His shirt drops as he growled, “I’ll do it…” he spread her legs apart and became thrilled at the sight of his cock moving in and out of her pussy. His thumb found the swollen clit and he began circling it. He felt her clench tighter around his cock. “Are you going to cum?”

Y/n’s hands clutched her chest, she nodded, teeth biting down on her lower lip.

“I can’t hear you?”

“Yes!” She shouted.

He flashed her a satisfied lopsided grin before quickening his pace. Leaning forward he wrapped his other hand behind her head, bringing her lips to his.

They were both near their orgasm and with a few more thrusts they both whimpered in sync.

“Ah,” he groaned against her lips. A sheer thin of sweat is visible across his face. He opened his eyes, staring at her closed one. At some point her hands have gripped the collar of his shirt in a tight fist, keeping close to her.

Where he only wants to be.

Pressing his lips to hers, he kissed her deeply and passionately.

Y/n moaned, pulling a way to gasp for a breath. His face flushed making him adorable in her eyes…

“You…” he breathed, “you make me feel things… do things… I’ve never done it before.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her nose, “now, can we shower together?”

Rin hated waking up early on his days off.

But it all changed now with this woman still in his arms, in his bed, sleeping soundlessly.

After their shower, they both got ready for bed.

The moment she settled into his bed, Rin initiated his attack.

“What the - !” She exclaimed when he threw half his body on her, locking her with his limbs.

“I can’t trust you not disappearing in the morning,” he murmured, burying his face into her chest. “Don’t leave me like last time… wake me up because I want to see you go if you have to go…”

At some point through the night, they shifted, she was now laying over him.

His hand pressed against the back of her head protectively as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Morning…”

E/n: This man. I would never be able to say no to this man, ever.

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @krooes

#haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #haikyuu suna #suna smut #suna rintarou smut #suna x you #suna x y/n #suna x reader #Happy birthday Suna Rintarou #suna rintarou x y/n #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader

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haru-natsuka · 7 months

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Left with father (Malleus Draconia x Child)

Genre: Fluff

(I will do for Ace Trappola tomorrow for both a daughter and a son)

Out of everyone, Malleus knew the best of the meaning behind loneliness. He spent most of his time in his childhood alone because almost everyone was scared of him due to his excessive power. His only companion was Lilia at that time who was willing to do anything for him, becoming a parent figure for the dragon fae. Therefore, when he had his own child, he promised he would never let him feel the loneliness that used to consume him. There would be no moment where his child would eat a whole cake by himself.

When he saw his wife was contemplating the decision to accept her friend’s invitation, he was about to disagree at first. Although he knew his one-year-old child was a big resemblance of his features and strength, it was well known the prince was a mama boy as he always wanted to stick with his mother whenever he saw her. Even when his wife tried to take a shower, his child would crawl up to her and hold her legs to follow along. Indeed, his son followed him in terms of stamina too but dear my child, I bathed with my wife first before you came so, please wait in line.

Malleus never wanted to confine his wife in the castle as she deserved to have her own freedom and ever since their marriage, this was the first time you conveyed to him about an outing. It took him for a while to make the decision but he chose to let you have your own free time for a while as you deserved it more. He could take care of our child so just trust him and go and yet he was surprised when you showed him your reluctance to leave.

"Maybe I should just stay at home. It's not an obligation for me to meet them. I should cancel my reunion" You babble a lot as you get ready in your outdoor outfit, sometimes stop in the middle to give a thought whether you should go out meeting your friends or not.

"Dear, you can go this time to have some meaningful moments with your friends. You already did a good job as our son's mother." Malleus tried to calm your nerves as he combed your hair. A sight that no one even witnessed for him being very gentle.

"But I love spending time with you and our child more and our child just learns to walk" You stared at Malleus through the mirror, still contemplating whether you should go or not. "Dear, it is just for 5 hours. I will be with him for the entire time" "Alright, I will go but please, don’t let Lilia food be near our child and stop Silver and Sebek from spoiling him so much, especially Sebek"

He promised to do as you said but not more than 10 minutes after you left, his life became hectic already. He was just trying to get his child's meal ready before he woke up from his deep slumber. Unfortunately, when he returned back to his child’s cradle, he had already disappeared without any trace left. It was impossible for a fairy clan to betray their master and any assassination attempt would be futile as the whole castle had a special spell for every intruder. Only the worst among worst actions left which Malleus did not want it to be true. Today, he still has yet to meet Lilia, Sebek and Silver. He tried to spot the prince with his magic and found out he was in the throne room. As he arrived in the room, his prediction was correct as the missing three were playing with his son. It was fine if they just wanted to play with him but what happened to his son now? There were a lot of jewelleries on him from head to toe and the boy was even properly sitting on the throne chair as if the rightful owner was him while Lilia tried to feed him something which the prince was about to eat if it was not for Malleus to intervene in the situation.

“Lilia, it is not a good idea for my child to eat your cooking yet.” Malleus gaze at the purplish dish in the bowl Lilia was holding and immediately stand in between him and his son.

“Doesn’t he get bored eating the same food every day? You used to eat the same food too when you were a child. Look how healthy you become” The latter tried to feed the prince again, who just stared at him in confusion whether he would get to eat or not.

“We will save your food for another special occasion, Lilia and why was my son decorated with all of these jewelleries?”

“Young Master! Look at my effort in making sure the rightful prince is satisfied! I have given him all of my jewelry and he likes it so much!” Sebek clearly wanted to be complimented with his effort by his master.

“Lord Malleus, I’m sorry that I fail to stop them”

Malleus did understand why you tried your best to not let the three of them be near the prince and he just could laugh at the situation. It was so hectic but not to the extent it was that bad except for Lilia’s food.

“You guys just show your care for my child, there is no need to be angry off”

“It feels like yesterday you were this big Malleus. Now, I can feel the age get to me. You even married to The Queen and have your own child” Lilia smiles contently as he recalls the past and the current time of Malleus' life.

“Lilia, never mention-“ Malleus' eyes went wide when he realised the word said by Lilia. He looked at his child who started to look on his left and right, clearly trying to find a certain figure near him. The child whisper,

“Ueen? Mama?” When the boy realised his mother was not by his side, the once confuse voice turned to a high pierced screaming as he continuously called for his mother. The four people inside the room were in panic as they tried to comfort the kid but everything was futile as he was just screaming and crying louder than before.

“My child, I have a gift for you to play with. You must love it as the game is very interesting” Malleus took out his retro digital pet game only for his son to throw it across the room and destroy it into pieces which made Malleus just look at the destroyed gadget but paid it no further attention.

“MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!” In the end, his son never stopped crying until you returned back to the castle and he saw your face and happily greeted you at the door, playing an innocent card with his adorable face and doe eyes. You picked him up from the floor but was caught by surprise with the face of the 4 guys who were also waiting for you at the door who looked more tired than ever. Moreover, why was the castle being covered with ice?

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dazednmatthews · 5 days

Text

(don’t tell me) you need me now? m. sturniolo x reader series

INTRO:

SYNOPSIS: once upon a time, matt and y/n used to be together. only, not really together, but that toxic middle ground between a relationship and strangers. y/n used to think matt hung the moon, but matt couldn’t be bothered to show he cared beyond the walls of their bedrooms. when she realizes that she deserves better, matt is gone and exed out from her life.

two years later and y/n is living her best life. she’s dating someone, has great friends and is so over her old not-boyfriend. or so she thought. until matt starts showing up everywhere. until he tells her that he wants to try again, and swears that he’s gonna do whatever it takes to get her back. it leaves y/n’s head reeling, re-defining everything she thought was true about the past, present and future. for her, there’s always been a thin line between self preservation and destruction. with matt back into her orbit, she’s right back there, toeing that line. god. here we go again.

WARNINGS:

use of y/n, alcohol, drugs (weed), cursing, suggestive as hell, toxic themes, angst (but sexy!)

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

prologue: i’m done being yours

chapter one: all bitter, no sweet

chapter two: (should hate you but) can’t make my mind up

chapter three: better than the rest

chapter five: take your time my baby (i’m waiting here for you)

chapter six: tell me what you’re willing to do

chapter seven: you and i (don’t let go)

epilogue: (loving you) it takes me higher

CHARACTERS:

y/n (main character)

matt (main love interest)

chris (obviously)

nick (obviously)

logan (matt’s best friend)

marigold stevens (y/n’s best friend)

celia foster (y/n’s best friend)

myles (y/n’s current love interest)

INFO:

1. this is essentially an oc/yn mashup. it’ll still be written as y/n and be a vague description (reader is black, like everything i write), but there’ll be a storyline and characters.

2. this is an au, so matt is essentially just a face claim. this is all fiction y’all so treat it as such

3. this will have very, very hectic updates!! this is much more in depth than anything i’ve done and i have a really good, thought out plan but i am a busy woman so be mindful

4. that’s literally it let’s get fucking LITTTTT

PLAYLIST:

(first eight are in order according to chapter titles)

you need me me now? girl in red feat. sabrina carpenter

good in goodbye madison beer

whiskey blues tanner adell

let me love you ariana grande feat. lil wayne

congratulations mac miller feat bilal

kiss it better rihanna

about you the 1975

won’t let you mormor

bittersweet tragedy melanie martinez

potential summer walker

w.d.y.w.f.m the neighbourhood

hurricane halsey

feather sabrina carpenter

hurts 2 hate somebody elio, chase atlantic, no rome

boyfriend ariana grande and social house

r e a l w o m a n partynextdoor

if u think i’m pretty artemas

i mean it g-eazy, remo the hitmaker

we lied to each other olivia o’brien

baby doll dominic fike

habits (stay high) tove lo

still got it troye sivan

say yes to heaven lana del rey

[will probably definitely be updated as the story progresses]

TAG LIST:

@cottoncandyswisherz @peachmels @sugrhigh @tastesousweet @rootbeerworshiper @hollandsangel @55sturn @chrryclouds @sturnolio-luvs @mattsobvimyfav @misscocodiorsblog @pepsiboyy @braindead4l @mxqdii @fawnchives @hearts4chriss @certifiednatelover @nmegamett20 @imaslut4kehlani @dominicfikue @wovenribbons @streamermattsgf @pr1ncessmatt @pinksturniolo @yourfavoritefangirl @nickmillersn1gf @freshxsturniolo @sturniolobltch @mattspolitank @lookingformyromeo @alorsxsturn @imwetforyourmom @kiarastromboli @sleepysturnss @mattscoquette @sturncakez @inkyray @simply-a-simper @lanas-doll @wh0resstuff @hypnotizedsturn @riowritesitall @kitaysworld @h3arts4harry @fikefries @conspiracy-ash @matty-bear @always-reading @thehighgrounds @unbruisable

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benkeibear · 7 months

Text

⋆꙳✧༄ Thighs

❖ Character: Isagi

❖ Reader: female | AFAB

❖ Wordcount: 1.4k

❖ Summary: Isagi got jealous over his team mates looking at you like a piece of meat and you punish him for it by denying him what he wants.

❖ WARNINGS: dom!reader, oral (reader receiving), thigh fucking, overstimulation

꒰ ͜͡➸ Back to Kinktober Masterlist

You should have known better than to show up at your boyfriend's practice dressed in this cute mini skirt you recently bought. Isagi’s mind was anywhere but at football, incapable of concentrating on the ball or even walking in a straight line but what angered him the most was how his teammates spent their drinking breaks surrounding you and flirting with you. What pushed him over the edge was the way one of them rested their hands on your thigh and you didn't bother taking it off - not thinking anything of it since they know you're Isagi’s girl. He almost started a fight right then and there when he pulled the guy off of you and dragged you away from the area by your upper arm, his grip much stronger than intended. “You're hurting me… let go” you pleaded before freeing yourself out of your lover's iron grip who seemed to only now wake up. “Sorry… I just couldn't stand how they were looking at you. Like you're some piece of meat” he grumbled, cheeks slightly flushed when his gaze drifted to your exposed thighs and you couldn't help but huff out annoyed. “I put this outfit on for you, not for them” you pointed out which made him roll his dark blue eyes “But they looked at you. I hate that” he protested which only pissed you off further. “Yoichi. People have eyes… should i cover myself head to toe o what do you want?” you didn't mean to raise your voice but you were frustrated by him. “no it's just… I don't want them to think of you when they…” He didn't need to finish his sentence for you to understand, feeling the heat creep up your neck and admit defeat. The walk home was filled by awkward silence, none of you knowing exactly if or how to apologize but you eventually came up with an idea. “You're thinking of me like this when you- you know?” You asked teasing, a little smirk forming on your lips when you walked in front of him, walking backwards so you could see his reaction clearly.

Isagi almost choked at the sudden question and let go of a nervous laugh. “Of course i do… you're my girlfriend” He said flustered but as if its the most normal thing in the world and it made you giggle. “What are you thinking of then? My pretty legs around your waist? on your shoulders? your head between them?” you continued to tease him just to get his mind off the little jealousy trip “all of that actually” he confirmed with a boyish grin, feeling caught but he knew that you'd be more than willing to help him with those fantasies. “Oh so it's really my thighs that you find attractive?” another question came at him but he ignored it, looking to the side as his cheeks burned up. The answer is yes. he dreamed about your pflush legs wrapped around his cock, little thrusts helping him get over the edge and you smirked at him with a knowing look, knowing exactly what he's thinking of since he avoided the question.

After his reaction you decided not to tease him any further, deciding to change the topic until you were home where he rushed into the shower, hoping you didn't notice just how worked up your little conversation got him - a knock on the door startling him. “Mind if i join?” you asked through the closed door, giving him privacy in case he didn't want your company but the door was opened within a split second, pulling you inside by your wrist before he pushed you against the tiled wall. The smallest gasp left your lungs at the impact against the dark tiles which gave Isagi the perfect chance to kiss you, his tongue finding home in your mouth as it caressed yours eagerly. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to deepen the kiss when your skirt rode up as you lifted one leg against his waist. “Take it off. let me see you” Isagi hummed while his hands slipped beneath the small piece of fabric to grab a hand full of your ass to hear you yelp.

It didn't take long for both of your clothes to get scattered along the bathroom floor before his hips eagerly grinded against yours, hardened length rubbing against your core and thighs, smearing his pre cum all over your beautiful legs. Gently he lifted you into the shower where he started the hot water, your lips still connected in a heated kiss before you turned around to grind your plush ass against his cock. Isagi wanted to release right then and there but you simply got out of the shower with a wink, not letting him have you the way he wanted, deciding to let him suffer a little for being so extremely jealous earlier. The poor man took his shower in a record time before pinning you against the bed, his skin still covered it's droplets of water which made you chuckle. “Be my good boy and help me out, would you?” you mused, your cunt dripping from the way your fingers played with your clit while he was still busy showering but he didn't need to hear it twice before sinking down, his head nestled between your thighs when he looked up at you, eyes all glossy when his tongue made contact with your arousal. For a moment his eyes fluttered shut, his tongue working its way through your folds to taste more of you before settling to flick your clit, alternating with little sucks. Isagi’s hips were rutting into the bed relentlessly as he ate you out like a man starved but you took a fist full of his hair to pull him off, his lower face glistening with your juices “don't move your hips… or do you want me to punish you?” You asked with a little wink and he almost whined, shaking his head before you let him continue his magic between your legs, throwing you over the edge in record time. His tongue kept lapping at your wetness as you came down from your high and you pulled him away again, making him whine once more. “I think you deserve a little reward” you hummed, pushing him around until he laid on his back, his cock twitching with anticipation when you straddled him.

A loud groan escaped him when you closed your legs around his cock, letting it slip between your thighs and cunt as you moved your hips, letting him fuck your plush thighs. It felt like heaven to him, your soft flesh along with your pretty cunt working on him made him weak, little moans and whines escaping your usually so dominant lover which took both of you by surprise - a pleasant one. His cock twitched wildly after just a few short minutes, big hands desperately trying to keep your hips anchored down so his own slice of heaven wouldn't end already but it was too no avail, you were bouncing up and down eagerly, moaning along with him and chasing your own orgasm with the way he nudged so perfectly against your puffy clit with each thrust. “Don't you dare finish already” you warned him, not wanting this to end either but he couldn't hold it back any longer, his hot seed spurting out over your thighs as a moan of your name echoed off the walls. Despite how close you were, you waited a moment to let him calm down from his orgasm before you started bouncing again, making his eyes go wide with a little panic “s-sensitive… fuck” he whined, not used to getting touched after he came but you didn't care, wanting to overstimulate him as a punishment for dragging you around earlier. “You can take it, good boy, can't you? One more” you moaned and watched him nod eagerly “y-yes I ca-can” he whimpered, thrusting his hips in time with yours, his legs shaking at the overstimulation but the way his cum aided as lube felt far too good to stop this now, needing to feel your cunt flutter around nothing before he could stop but you had other plans… wanting to find out just how much your beloved man can take before he breaks and begs for mercy.

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#blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #isagi x reader #isagi smut #isagi yoichi #bllk x reader #bllk smut #isagi x you #—Rhys Kinktober 2023

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