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bigassmoonchild · 8 months

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Lost and Found

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: The results came back, the pregnancy results. You fear losing Simon, even after your talk and he holds you close. Things slowly go back to normal, but by god was Simon starting to smell a little too good. And the scent was coming from his door.

Content Tags: Angst, Almost Pregnancy Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Simon Communicating, DROPPING THE L WORD (leprosy), Simon likes compound drama, Mentions of Masturbation, Use of Pet-Names, Teasing, No Use of Y/N, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost

A/N: I'm working one day a week because they only need me one day a week. I might quit, ngl. Anyways, I'm getting better! Not as sick! I'm going to figure out at better way for people to navigate the maple syrup series, but you know the drill. Content under the cut and asks are open!

Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist

The next few days felt incredibly slow. You'd worked on a bit of paperwork before heading back to your rooms and sitting in your nest, going through the clothes you were intending to give back to Simon because the scent was growing stale. As you were folding one of the last hoodies, a knock on your door made you pause.

Opening it, you saw a soldier standing outside. He gave you a salute before looking down and reading off of the paper he was holding.

"Your presence is required in room 62B. Please be presentable and there within the half hour," he handed you the paper and marched away. Glancing at it, they were requesting you for more questioning based on the hearing you'd been part of.

Shit.

You stood and dug through the wardrobe you had, pulling out a few of your better shirts and pants. At this point, you didn't really care what you wore. So long as it wasn't dirty and didn't have any rips or holes.

Reading the door numbers down to 62B, you took a deep breath before entering, nodding at the few people who were sitting, glancing past Price. You sat, folding your hands on your lap as the people across the table looked at you. They shifted, glancing from the door to you for a few minutes.

"We're just waiting for Riley, you needn't be so stiff, Doctor," you looked away from them, finding Prices eye before looking the other way. You just wanted to get this over with, they hadn't even notified you about your test, so the fact that they only told them about it was weird.

The door opened, and all you could smell was Simon. Leather and tobacco, hints of the gunpowder used on base came through. It smelled muskier, though, and as much as you could smell it wasn't sweat. Not like normal.

He sat beside you, not looking in your direction. The people in front of you shifted the papers about on the table, looking between each other. They didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"The pregnancy test came back," you heard Simon scoff beside you, a quiet 'no shit' coming from him. You rolled your own eyes, glancing down to the carpet under you. It was old, probably older than you.

The man cleared his throat. "It came back positive, at least at first," you looked up, brows furrowing. "After a few minutes, though, it turned negative. We did a few more tests and they eventually came back negative. Conclusively," you closed your eyes, head tilting back.

Why were you feeling so disappointed? Were you actually somewhat excited about having a pup, even if Simon didn't want it?

"Although, they did find some hormones synchronous with what is called a 'false pregnancy'," they explained, reading off of the sheet they had.

You glanced up, watching as they tried to find a way to explain it. "My body had hormones, probably from a fertilized egg that never attached properly, and it left my hormones thinking I was pregnant. They never cleared my body, so my scent and body was changing to prep for the pup," you explained, playing with your fingers.

So close, and yet you were so far from having a pup. You could almost smell distress on Simons scent, but you didn't want to go into the specifics. You couldn't think of his normal scent, not with how deep in your head you'd become.

You could faintly hear them explaining the outcomes, faintly heard a few 'probable cause for the attack' and a few other 'nothing is being pressed,' and finally you came to.

"We're considering this almost exactly the same as if the Omega was actually pregnant," they explained. "So you're getting off on just about the same as a slap on the wrist, but don't think we won't add this to your file," and you stood, turning and walking out.

There was nothing you'd realized you wanted more. A family. A pup to care for and watch grow and eventually maybe, just maybe, add more to your little family.

But no, you didn't have the luxury of that. No, you weren't allowed to have your family, your Alpha had been so mad at you and possibly didn't want you sometimes.

Alpha doesn't want a broken Omega.

You had to fight the tears you could feel building, jaw locking in place as you found yourself moving to your room. A few more halls, one or two more turns and you'd be able to curl up in your nest and hope to God that your Alpha would still want you.

As you went to close your room door, something stopped it from closing. You turned to figure it out, slightly pissed off that it happened. Simon.

"I'm sorry," you could feel tears starting to run out of your eyes, felt him pulling you into his chest and sobs tearing out of your chest. "I'm so sorry," you were muffled by his chest, hands grasping at his shirt and holding tight. You could faintly hear the door close, your legs moving with him as he dropped you back into your nest.

Simon pulled you into his chest, hands running along your back. Your hands never left his chest and you could hear him murmuring into your hair.

"S'alright, lovie, s'alright," he whispered, arms wrapping around your back to pull you in as close as he could. It felt like everything was back to normal but nothing was. Everything was changed but nothing was at the same time.

For what felt like hours, you laid there, grasping at Simon to stay where you were. He rubbed at your back and chuffed into your ear, your tears slowing and sobs breaking into hiccups, breathing slowing as you laid there.

His hands stopped, albeit slowly, before pulling you back to look at him.

"Y'alright?" He asked this time, wiping your face dry. You nodded, then shook your head before dropping it back onto his chest.

"'m sorry, Simon," you whispered, his hand finding your back and resting there. "Failed you," you added finally. He hummed in confusing, head lifting to look down at you.

You swallowed, closing your eyes. "Lost the pup," he shook his head, squeezing you a little. He ran his hand down your arm, rubbing it slowly.

"Didn't lose anything, lovie," he whispered. "Your body was just confused, it's not your fault," you wanted to argue with him, wanted to tell him he was crazy. You lost the pup, and he should get rid of you.

He kept murmuring loving words into your ears, telling you how good of an Omega you were, how much he cared about you. How much he adored that you were his and didn't want to leave.

"Love you, y'know that?" He whispered, hours having passed since the two of you found yourselves inside your nest. He slid you into his hoodie within the first hour, let you lay there and inhale his scent.

You hummed, fighting sleep. It hadn't hit you what he'd said, not yet at least.

"Love y'too," you whispered into his neck, breathing slowing as you were falling asleep. He loved you, Alpha loves you, your head snapped up. "Huh?" Simon barked out a short laugh, pulling his mask from his face as he looked at you.

"Y'didn't hear me?" You blinked slowly at him, smile slowly spreading on your face. His voice grew softer, eyes drifting away from you. He seemed almost, nervous. "Y'forgive me?" He whispered, hands tightening on you.

You nodded, dropping your head on him. "Thought you would've thought of me as a bad Omega," you whispered. "Thought I'd lost you after I said I might be pregnant, then again when they told us I wasn't," he shook his head.

He gave a humorless laugh. "Never lost me," he said. "'m not good at emotions," he started, looking down at you briefly. "Never was, never will be. I want to try, though, try and make sure you never feel like that again," he spoke into the side of your head, pressing his lips against your head.

You swallowed thickly.

"Thought I lost everything," you whispered into his neck, closing your eyes.

You glanced at your new squad, looking them over.

"If you don't want to be led by an Omega, leave. Get out, I don't want to see your face," you said, glancing amongst them. "If you don't like that I'm leading you, get the hell out. I don't want to see you, if you're going to cause problems, get out," you said.

No one moved, looking down at their boots and away from you. Nobody said anything, it all remained quiet. You smiled, arms crossed as you watched them stand still.

You crossed your arms, glancing amongst them. "The only problem I've ever encountered is you guys not understanding what it means to be a soldier. Combat medic, combat comes first," you told them. "Which means you're a soldier first,"

You sighed deeply, rubbing the migraine out of your temples. They were the worst group you'd ever had. They seemed to not have any knowledge on anything medical, and even less knowledge about combat awareness.

"Bad day?" Simon asked, placing a tray of food in front of you and putting his own on the side of your desk closest to him. You groaned at him, dropping your head down.

You glanced up, watching him pull the mask off of his face and place it next to his food, scooping some of it into his mouth. You snorted softly, watching him.

His brows raised in questioning. "We went from me absolutely despising you just a few days ago to you eating in my office," you laughed softly. "Anyways, I have the worst squad ever," you groaned and he paused his eating.

"They saying things?" He said, moving to stand and you hushed him, hands gesturing for him to sit back down.

In the few days since you two had been cleared back to work, he had made it a habit to bring you at least two meals during your shift. Usually lunch and dinner, which he had at the same time as you, quite thankfully.

You'd grown to begin telling him tales of what happened, whatever drama you could find that happened throughout the day. Oh my god, Simon, apparently Amanda now has an Alpha? And he works on another force, I think something air, you told him the first night.

Surprisingly, he was really interested in what was happening around base. Today, though, he appeared a little more out of it. He seemed slightly off, watching you closer and staring down Alphas who walked by you when he just so happened to be near.

It was weird, but you hadn't put too much thought into it. You were finally back to a normal, something the two of you were putting together. Maybe it was just his new normal, but you weren't going to ask questions.

He stayed quiet, giving you a few murmurs of agreement or interest at all of the new things you'd discovered. Once the two of you finished, instead of sitting with you until you were finished to walk with you back to your room he grabbed your trays and walked out, giving you a short murmur about needing to workout or something.

It left you a little confused, but you weren't going to mention it. You knew this took up a lot of his own time, and you knew that he would want to spend some time on his own to relax.

You felt the same way, but something was off and you could tell. By the time you finished putting away the last paper into its file, it was nearing 10 at night. You walked to your room, bag in hand as you watched the door numbers slowly shrink to your room number.

As you entered it, you'd been expecting to see Simon there, but maybe tonight he just wanted to relax in his own room and take some time to chill out. You understood, and found yourself slowly going through the motions of your nightly routine, some part of you hoping he would walk in right before you finished this part. Then it became this part, then the next.

Eventually, you were curled in your bed, lights all out while listening for movements outside. You found yourself waking up the next morning, groaning as you turned off your alarm clock. Simon never came to your room, but that was okay you told yourself.

It was fine, because everyone needed a moment to themselves here and there. So you began your routine, getting something small to eat as you walked through the clinic, checking on people who had come in overnight to be treated for something.

You ran your training, having the squad work on taking care of those who were harmed and trying to tourniquet them.

"I'm bleeding out, help me! Aaah! It hurts so much, I'm writhing in pain!" Soap was all too pleased to help you with this. Gaz was helping as well, but had stopped his acting to roll on the ground laughing at him. It seemed to work just as well as Johnny's screaming and writhing.

Shutting your eyes tight, you had to hold yourself silent to keep from laughing too hard or distracting everyone. Even as your back was turned, you could hear little squeals coming from Johnny, but as you opened your eyes you saw Ghost watching from a distance.

Gesturing him over, he shook his head and turned back to his own training group, leaning over to shout at someone. You sighed, turning around to watch the group once more.

"Steph, no, that tourniquet is way too tight, I can see it from here. You're cutting the blood flow off, not his leg,"

At lunch you grew a little worried when Simon didn't show up. He had been making sure to bring you food (and letting you watch him eat) every lunch and dinner. Sometimes it was breakfast instead of lunch, but he hadn't come during breakfast.

It took you a few moments before you decided to try and find him, but everyone you spoke to had turned away from you, telling you that it was in your better interest to leave him alone. When you found Gaz again, you pulled him to the side.

"What's up with S- Ghost?" You asked and he looked away, grimacing a little. "Go on, tell me. I'm his mate, it's not like he's doing something that would kill me," you said, brows furrowing as he didn't say anything.

You gestured for him to tell you. "He's been really violent today. Look outside, there's more people running than usual, and his temper is getting the better of him," he whispered, looking around like Simon would jump out of nowhere.

At dinner, when Simon didn't show up you found yourself walking the compound to look for him. To find out where he'd gone, or what was wrong. He wasn't anywhere you'd expected him to be, not the gym or field.

Walking to his room, it was a few halls before when the scent hit you hard. Leather and tobacco, some hints of the gunpowder used on base. You walked a little closer, musky tangs of something just entirely Simon breaking through.

Standing outside of his door, you stared at it. Hearing long groans and whines, huffs of your name. Trying the door, it was locked and everything in the room paused.

A bang on the door made you jump back before leaning in. "Simon?" You whispered, trying the doorknob again. He whined at the sound of his name coming from you, and you could hear nails on the door.

"Please," he whispered back, voice muffled by the door. You could hear another bang on the door and you gave a little laugh.

"Y'gotta unlock the door first, Alpha," a growl came from behind the door.

Tag List:

@sae1kie @shinebright2000 @zechie-spams @itsmadamehydra @smiley-roos @enrapturedbythemoon

If I forgot you, please send me a message, reply or ask. I apologize for any mistakes in the Tag List, I'm trying to get it all organized.

#angst #hurt/comfort #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 #modern warfare ii #task force 141 #ghost mw2 #no use of y/n #simon riley #call of duty #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #teasing #pet-names #dropping the L word #Maple Syrup

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gabrielsbubblegumbitch · 3 months

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Hello again! LOVE op's posts about static moth so so much they are giving me ungodly amounts of serotonin ... It's genuinely been such a joy reading your interpretations of their relationship and what makes them work the way they do. Even with the limited amount of content we have of them I believe you've nailed their respective personalities and behavior patterns spectacularly and every single post has been extremely interesting to go through and to analyze off of!

Regarding the reasons as to why Valentino likes vox as a romantic partner, I also believe part of it has to do with some of Vox's more stalkerish tendencies as well? His (not yet canon but close) Voyeurism, his constant need for control, etc.

This is more of a head canon than anything else, but I do genuinely believe Valentino enjoys the obsessive attention he can get only from Vox as it does wonders to quell his constant sense of emptiness, his subsequent feelings of abandonment, and the anxieties that follow. The fact that he knows Vox enjoys stalking him, (probably) gets off on it and is actively deriving pleasure from simply watching him go about his day may be adding to the thrill and content as well. The thing is, as generally absurd and problematic it is, this behavior seems to bring a sense of security for both Partys involved: Throughout the show during all 4 episodes that feature Valentino's presence, we have yet to see a single scene with him without at least one camera tracking his movements. They are everywhere. They follow him wherever he goes, Vox can follow him wherever he goes whenever he so chooses, even to Vals own personal quarters. They are a massive, glaring red flag and quite frankly would bring a suffocating amount of pressure and sense of captivity to any other person under the same circumstance. But Val never brings this up, so I feel he either doesn't think he's in a favourable condition to complain, or he likes the idea of Vox always having his eyes on him. For me I think it's the latter, and I think for him to act so nonchalant around vox's cameras and his potentially constant, 24/7-hour surveillance, it has to have offered him some form of comfort. It has to have made him feel good, either about himself, about the state of their relationship, or both.

(apologies for the sloppy wording, hope you have a wonderful day!)

Awww, Anon, you are so sweet! Reading your question brought me so much joy <3 I think your perspective is spot on, and I wholeheartedly agree with it. I must admit I initially omitted this aspect of their relationship from my initial response because the question specifically focused on love rather than "sexy and toxic stuff." For me, voyeurism and stalking kink are more closely related to the latter category.

That being said, Val undoubtedly enjoys having Vox's eyes always on him. Being a diva and a performer, he relishes performing for Vox, especially knowing Vox's likes all the deranged shit but desperately tries to hide it underneath his clean façade. So he’s basically like “I’m going to hit this bitch for you, Voxy. As a treat.” recognizing that Vox couldn't do it himself without tarnishing his image. In return, Val receives even more attention and admiration, perpetuating the cycle.

Since you've given me the opportunity to delve into Vox's voyeurism further, I'll add some additional insights (I've been meaning to write a proper post about it for some time now but that rabbit hole is just too deep). It's fundamentally about control, of course, and it's simply a kink. However, kinks are not merely about arousal; they involve complex psychological dynamics. People a lot smarter than me wrote a shit ton of essays about voyeurism, especially since it is a very relevant topic in the visual media era. One sentence about Lacan's interpretation of it grasps really well what I have in mind when I think about Vox:

By appropriating the other as image, the voyeur makes it an object of pleasure*, while remaining uninvolved in the other's intimacy.

It’s a parasitic relationship. A voyeur gets symbolic control over their object and it gives them the sense of being powerful. And they don’t have to offer anything themselves – no effort that is required to gain control in situations with two subjects involved, nor the vulnerability necessary in consensual relationships. They can just freely feed on others without offering anything in exchange.

Without delving too deeply into philosophy, Vox's inability to live authentically stems from his obsession with his image, his guardedness, and his need for control. This sets a lot of limitations about what he can allow himself to personalmy experience. So he derives dopamine from "stealing" others' experiences and emotions, while avoiding the effort and vulnerability required in genuine connections.

*In a broader sense, voyeuristic pleasure isn't necessarily sexual; it can manifest as the thrill some people experience from watching macabre imagery in movies, eavesdropping on neighbors' drama, or even watching overly personal vlogs.

#vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #Valentino #valentino hazbin #voxval #staticmoth #character analysis #headcanon #ask

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riconas · 10 months

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Can you write some Swiss/Dew lazy, sleepy morningsex, pretty please🙏🏻

look. this was lazy and sleepy and soft at first. but it’s swiss and dew. what can i do

sleepy(ish) sex under the cut

“Shh, no,” Swiss whispers, when Dew tries to roll over. “Just stay there. Don’t get up.”

Dew blinks bearily. “Wha—”

“Shh,” Swiss whispers again, pulling Dew even closer, and Dew feels the stiff length of his cock pressing into the small of his back.

Dew buries his face in the pillow. Not that this is unpredictable behaviour, coming from Swiss, but Satanas. He’s so tired. Exhausted, worn out from last night. Lucifer, if Swiss asks him to ride, he might just knee him in the balls.

“Don’t have to do anything,” Swiss says, as if reading his mind. “Just let me—” He slides the head of his cock against Dew’s hole, still wet and puffy from the fun they’d had before bed, and Dew shivers. Sensitive, first thing in the morning.

He manages a helpless little whine before Swiss is pressing in, nice and easy, all the way. No trouble at all. He’s already hardening up, his body just as excited for this as Swiss is, even as the aches and pains make themselves known.

Good wake up call.

When Swiss wraps his strong arms around Dew’s middle and grinds deep into him, Dew arches his back and moans, accidentally headbutting Swiss. He’s about to apologise, but Swiss is already propping his head up on Dew’s shoulder and laughing breathily in his ear.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Nuh-uh. Don’t get up. You just lie there and feel good.”

Dew certainly isn’t complaining. He sighs, always happy to be a pillow princess, and lets Swiss fuck languidly into his tired body, clenching every now and then to help him along. Well. He hopes he’s helping Swiss along. He would be quite useless otherwise.

“You touching yourself?” Swiss asks. “You can. If you want.”

Dew does want. Dew wants so much. But he really is tired, and jerking himself off is an effort he doesn’t feel like making.

“Uh-huh,” is all he says, hoping Swiss takes that as a yes.

He practically hears Swiss’s smirk. “Someone’s still sleepy.”

Dew huffs. “That’s ‘cause you—oh, fuck, fuck—woke me up at the ass-crack of dawn.”

He stops talking after that, because Swiss isn’t fucking him leisurely anymore—he’s holding Dew’s hips with a vice-like grip, manhandling him every which way as he jabs his cock into his prostate. Dew’s too weak to be annoying, so he lies there and takes it like the good boy he hopes Swiss will say he is, instinctively snaking his tail around Swiss’s forearm.

“You’re so useless,” Swiss says, not unkindly. “So lucky. Don’t want to do any work, do you?”

“No,” Dew squeaks.

“Not even touching that little dick, are you?”

Dew whines. “No.”

“Need some help?”

Does he need Swiss’s help to jerk himself off? He does. He absolutely does, and he’s going to say yes, and Swiss is never going to shut up about this.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Just—just this once.”

What a good liar he is.

“Sure,” Swiss laughs, but he cups Dew’s aching cock anyway, cradles it in the palm of his hand, and fuck if that doesn’t make Dew feel some kind of way. Not that Dew’s cock is small, he swears, just that Swiss’s hand is big. That’s all.

“Stroke it,” Dew mumbles.

“What?”

“Stroke it, you have to stroke it—”

“Have to?” Swiss gives his cock a squeeze. “Nah.”

Dew slumps against the pillow. Groans, loudly.

“You wanna grind?” Swiss asks. “C’mere. Be nice and comfy for you.”

With great effort, Dew climbs over him, perches astride his broad hips. Rubs their cocks together a little, attempts to wrap his hand around both of them at once to give the world’s most pathetic handjob.

“Sit on it,” Swiss says.

Dew shuffles up and slowly lowers himself onto Swiss’s cock. There’s a stretch, but it doesn’t hurt—not enough to matter, at least.

Instinct kicks in, and he’s bouncing in no time, albeit a little sloppily. Swiss doesn’t seem to mind, anyhow. He’s got this lazy smile on his face as he loosely grasps Dew’s hips, a growing smirk that says he’s waiting for Dew’s thighs to give out so he can give him a real pounding.

He doesn’t wait long.

“That’s okay,” Swiss says soothingly, when Dew’s head begins to droop. “Relax.” He taps his own chest. “All for you. Lie down.”

With a quiet groan, Dew plasters himself to Swiss’s chest, tucking his face into the crook of Swiss’s neck. Swiss smells like ash and weed and something distinctly spicy, maybe cardamom. Dew wouldn't know. He doesn't study the spice bottles in the kitchen.

“Too early for this shit,” he mumbles, and he feels the rumble of Swiss’s laugh shake through his body.

“I didn’t say you had to do all the work,” Swiss says lightly. He traces a finger down Dew’s spine, drags it back up again. Feather-light. Ticklish. Quite nice, actually.

He’ll wake Swiss up next time. At five am. Maybe four. Let him know how annoying it is, having his beauty sleep so rudely cut short.

“Don’t make that face,” Swiss says, which is stupid, because he can’t even see Dew’s face, but whatever. He grabs two handfuls of Dew’s ass and moves him like that, rocking slowly into him, getting a steady rhythm going.

Dew tries to sneak his hand between them, get a hold on his cock, but Swiss catches his wrist before he can get very far.

“Nuh-uh,” he chides. “Not yet.”

“Why not?” Dew asks, genuinely confused. Isn’t this all for him? He tries again, but Swiss just catches him a second time and doesn’t let go.

“You don’t have to do any work,” Swiss says. “Just stay there, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good,” and okay, Dew’s getting the hang of this now. He could push himself upright, technically, and jerk himself off like that, but he’s not enthusiastic about his arms feeling like noodles—not after Swiss made him hold himself up for hours last night while he plowed him into the mattress.

So Dew does what Dew does worst: he shuts his mouth, closes his eyes, and obeys.

#rico writes #ficlet #swiss x dew #dew x swiss #the band ghost fanfiction

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petersbaby · 1 year

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Library - Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: Slight perv!eddie, fingering, choking. This one is pretty tame

A/N: I wanted to remind everyone that I take donations/tips and the kofi is linked in my pinned post! Your girl is lowkey struggling right now and it would mean the world. Obviously you don’t have to, but it’s there if you’re feeling generous. <3

You had strict parents. That’s how you ended up here, tucked away in a corner of your local library after school with Eddie. You loved him, of course, you thought he was a good person when you put aside all the annoying shit he does.

Your parents, though, not so much. He’s pretty much a textbook “bad boy,” not the kind of person they would want you to be hanging out with. They only knew about him what they had heard; the rumors.

When Eddie asked you to help him with a class he was failing because it was your best subject, you couldn’t invite him over. This was the meeting point. You had agreed, because you really did want to see him graduate. And possibly because he smokes you out from time to time free of charge.

You had a nice little friendship going, it was just one that not many people were aware of. You kind of liked the privacy, but you knew it must feel shitty on his end because he gets judged and therefore so does whoever he associates with. The library wasn’t busy, it was surprisingly vacant.

You two sat together at a table, side by side, close. Chairs pulled up next to each other and all kinds of stuff scattered across the surface of the table. Notebooks, a textbook, printed sheets, flash cards, the whole nine yards. He was overwhelmed but trying to stay still and pay attention.

You read to him aloud from the textbook as if he were a child who couldn’t read, but all he could think about was how good you smelled and how pretty your eyelashes were and the holes in the jeans you wore.

You finished reading a paragraph.

“Okay, write that down. That’s 100% going to be on the test, so it’s important.”

You pick up the pencil and hand it to him, as the notebook with messily scrawled out notes sat in front of him. He just stares at it. He doesn’t even take the pencil.

“I uhh, I’m really sorry but I didn’t catch any of that. Could you read it again?”

You take a deep breath in and out, trying to be patient. He never could focus.

“I will, but listen this time. Seriously.”

“Okay, okay.” He nods, and you return to the book.

Your skin looked so soft, he could find out if it actually was as soft as it looked so easily. He could just reach down and touch your leg, so fucking easy.

This time, halfway through the passage, you check to make sure he’s not spacing out, and he is. Just this time, instead of his gaze staring into something off in the distance, it was on you.

You stop speaking and just look at him til he notices you stopped. It takes him a minute, but the lack of your voice in his ears brings him to look up at you, confused.

“What? Why’d you stop?”

“Because you don’t look like you’re listening to me.”

“I’m *totally* listening. You’re talking about the uh… the American revolution.”

“French. The French revolution.”

“Right, yeah, that’s what I meant.”

You sigh and put your hand on your face.

“You need to be on medication, eds, you have ADHD.”

“It’s not… listen, you just look… you look very pretty. Can’t stop looking at you.”

You have to fight off the smile that tries to spread across your face, ears and cheeks heating up.

“Thank you. But look at the book, not me.”

“UGH. I can’t. I need an ugly tutor, then I’d be able to concentrate.”

“Quit.” You say softly, squirming in your seat at the compliments he’s giving you. He makes you nervous, but in a good way. It’s hard to explain.

“I’ve got an idea. Okay?”

“Mhm.”

“You wanna kiss me?”

Now it was his turn to blush a little bit. He’s nervous now in that exact same way, same way as you. There was obviously some tension there in the friendship that you knew about and felt, you knew he had a thing for you, at least to some degree. Maybe you did for him, too. A little.

“Fuck yes.”

“Do your work, and you can. Only after.”

“Okay, I think I got everything done for today. Am I finished?” He asks, wanting to finally put the pencil down. His hand hurt.

“For today.” You emphasize. “You’re still really behind.”

He fixes his eyes on your soft lips, just wondering what they taste like. You catch this fascination.

“Alright,” you sigh, turning to face him, “go ahead.”

You had to act like this was an inconvenience for you, like it wasn’t EXACTLY what you wanted too. He places his right hand on your face, softly holding it and pressing his lips against yours, and it quite literally takes your breath away.

It lasts for what feels like forever, neither one of you pulling away. In fact, instead of pulling apart, you become even more intertwined.

You deepen the kiss, your hand coming up to caress his face as well. You focused on the way his stubble felt beneath your touch, and the way all you smelled was aftershave and smoke.

You take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting down on it just a little bit, pulling, then letting it fall back into place. Your tongue runs across it to both soothe the nip but to also request access into his mouth, which is immediately granted.

As the kiss-turned-make out session went on, his hand fell down to your neck, feeling the warm and sensitive skin there. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know why he feels the need to do this, but he experimentally wrap his big, rough hand around your throat.

No pressure, just placing it there. It was almost absentmindedly, and he didn’t think much of the gesture. You get annoyed by it, though, and place your hand over his, squeezing it for him.

“Fuck, you like that?” He mutters quietly.

“Shut up.” You kiss him again.

He squeezes the sides of your throat with just the right amount of intoxicating pressure while your tongues explore each other’s mouths.

‘Wait,’ you thought, and pulled away from him. You look all around the area, scanning for people. You forgot where you were, just for a minute there.

“There’s nobody here.” He whispers, assuring you after seeing your slightly panicked expression. You then look up at the ceiling.

“No cameras either. You think the town has enough money for all that shit?” He reads your mind, and you relax.

“Unbutton these jeans for me, yeah?”

You don’t know where this is going, but you oblige. Just something about him made you want to do everything he asked.

He kisses you again, hand trailing down your body til they dip into your pants. He rubs circles over your clit on top of your panties, and you gasp softly at the sudden feeling.

You tried your best to keep consistently kissing him back and hold it together, but then his hand finds it’s way into your panties too.

“Holy shit.” He comments, simply, to himself and against your lips.

You can guess that you’re probably embarrassingly wet and that that is what he’s just discovered. He easily slips in his middle finger, effortlessly, and you gasp.

You also spread your legs to make it a bit easier for him. This was so gross, so illegal, but so good. You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

Your tongues dance together, occasionally fighting for dominance, lips both covered in saliva from one another. He gently pushes his one finger in and out of you, trying not to get too eager and overwhelm you.

But once you started seemingly trying to grind against his hand, he adds in another digit. You pant against his lips as he curls them inside you, as deep as the can go, scissoring them against your walls.

“Oh, god, Eddie,” you say in a whisper, more of a quiet whine than anything.

“Shhh.” He soothes, covering your mouth with his own, not letting up. In fact, they got faster, his thick calloused fingers.

You were gonna cum. You were gonna cum? In the library, with people in the building? Yeah, you had to. It was unavoidable and you weren’t able and didn’t have the time to say anything, but he could tell by the way you clenched around him and the way you were struggling to kiss him back.

“Yeah? Just be quiet.” He whispers.

You just nod your head breathlessly. When it hits you, it really hits you, and if you were alone you would absolutely scream. You can’t, and you know that, so your first idea is to cover your hand over your own mouth tightly to stifle any noise.

“Good girl, that’s a good girl.” He continues to whisper as you ride it out.

You take your hand away, trying to catch your breath and breathe like a normal person again. He removes his hand too, and you quickly go to zip and button your jeans again, straightening yourself out.

“Jesus Christ.” You half-chuckle, in disbelief at how far things went.

“To thank you. For helping me.” He explains.

“And maybe to convince you to do it again tomorrow? I know I’m hard to teach but I promise I’ll behave.”

“Of course.” You say, as if it were a given.

“You’re a really sweet girl, you know that?” He smiles.

“Whatever.” You jokingly roll your eyes, smiling a little too. You getting up to collect all your things, and he helps you put the stuff into your backpack.

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x fem reader #perv eddie #perv!eddie #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut

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birthdaycakeplate · 1 year

Text

Ambiguous Ceasefire AU

Everyone’s favorite trope- Megatron gets high in the medbay and flirts with Optimus ✨

(I cannot proof read this or I will die)

————————————-

“It’s processor damage, Ratchet-“

“No, it’s processor lag. Stop fretting, Prime. He shouldn’t of been drinking that slag with an injury like that.”

“It’s a common practice, stumpy. Decepticons do not have ze luxury of pain patches jou hoity-toity Autobots do.”

“This is peace time, Strika. He could have waited for me to get to him after he comm’ed for me! Overcharge interferes with medication.”

“Please don’t raise your voice, Ratchet. He’s likely very sensitive.”

Megatron made a pathetic noise of agreement. Though it was too great a chore to open his optics and see for himself who was yelling back and forth at one another over his helpless, prone form, he could at least summon the strength to wave his servo in a silent plea to be spared.

These bots sounded far too over involved, and Megatron just wanted to sleep…

He shifted to find his bearings and a tremor ran through him as a searing sensation nestled deep in his abdominal plate screamed at him in protest. He conceded with a hiss, falling back against the padded slab beneath him.

“Hey! Stop moving!”

Megatron flinched at the sudden shouting.

“Let him.” Said the thick accent.

“He has to learn his lesson.”

“But it’s not his fault- you said he was trying to numb the pain.”

‘Not his fault’.

If Megatron’s glossa weren’t impossibly heavy and he had a slice of a processor left to think with, he knew he’d be quite inclined to chat with the more forgiving of the three voices above him to help him make sense of things.

He liked having a sensible mech around.

“He’s an idiot, but he was also desperate, you two.”

Megatron took it back.

Sleep was clearly not an option anymore, nor was a moment’s peace of the burning hole in his tank keeping him on high alert.

Through sheer force of will -and the need to assert himself, especially as an incapacitated warlord- Megatron cracked an optic open to address the spinning room at large.

In seconds, the colliding world of colors and far too bright lights came into a hazy focus, morphing into a sight more arresting than his first view of the Iacon tower in 4 millennia.

Before him stood a stunningly vivid mech, painted in blues and reds, silvers and yellows, and peering down at him with such captivation.

Shielding him from the blinding light in his optics with his curiously cocked helm.

Or perhaps, Megatron thought, that was concern etched into his smooth features- rather unsure of how to behold the colossal mech laid before him.

Megatron had built an empire with… ‘physical persuasion’ and his dashing charisma, and this new recruit was clearly feeling out of his depths at the sight of his glorious leader. Even in the pathetic state he was in -which Megatron could tell by his aching joints.

He was simply too magnificent a mech.

“Megatron?” The young recruit spoke his name, and in an instant of clarity, as Energon rushed to Megatron’s helm -and with it, the euphoric tendrils of some unnamed emotion- Megatron realized in wonder and awe that this was no recruit he’d ever seen before- because the blue mech wasn’t one.

“….M-Megatron?”

He was a guardian sent by Primus. That was a halo above his angled helm.

“A holy architect of the AllSpark.” The helicopter murmured in a hushed voice. Lying there in worship.

“You are a messenger of Primus?”

Wide optics stared back at him.

“No- Megatron, you’re not dead.” That little billed helm shook.

“This is Cybertron.”

“I don’t think he thinks he’s dead and gone to the well of AllSparks.” Ratchet mumbled somewhere off to his side. Dialing in another boost of sensor blockers to rush Megatron’s sensor net and effectively muddle his already vacant processor further.

With the new surge of pleasure came another ping of inspiration, as Megatron’s sharp denta gleamed and curled back into the first genuine smile he’d fostered in ages.

The little angel looked at him, terrified.

“You are a messenger, here to give me strength to stand and weather these injuries to fight another day. I can feel myself returning to my full glory from just your presence here.”

“That would be the cortical patch.” Ratchet spoke again.

“You’re high. Feels good, don’t it?”

The angel began to shake his helm more frantically at Megatron’s blatant leering.

“I’m not a… a… u-um. I’m…”

“When I raise my sword again, fair Virgo,” Megatron’s rumbling vocalizer broke with the roughness of recharge attempting to take over him.

“Know that it is you I pray to victory for.”

Laughter burst throughout the little makeshift medbay as Strika heaved her vents empty. Ratchet struggled similarly.

Megatron did not mind the boisterous -frankly bothersome in this moment of rare beauty- laughter, as the angel’s blue faceplates turned kissably red all at once because of it.

Perhaps he was shy and unused to the thunderous sounds of war. The battlefield was always full of raucous mechs, and untouched by the appearance of a creation so pure and precious, did not know how to shelter one from it.

Megatron attempted to reach up and pacify the frightened thing by freckling each cheekplate with a gentle press of his lips to them, but found himself immediately knocked back by the weight of his own unresponsive limbs.

“Megatron!” The little mech reached out and grabbed his paw of a hand, barely able to grip one massive digit, squeezing for some kind of confirmation that Megatron was ok.

He was out, though. Giving in to the impressive cocktail of blockers Ratchet had calculated he’d fall victim to several minutes ago.

The laughter continued until Strika was on her knees on the floor, scrambling to string a sentence together.

“It’s processor lag…” Optimus reminded them.

———————————

Megatron had been subjected to the recording Strika had taken ten times over -or what little he could make of it over her deafening cackling. The wretched glitch.

Why he hadn’t permanently demoted her right then and there with his fusion cannon was entirely Lugnut’s fault, with his endless litany of loyalties Megatron needed to take into account.

He had to admit, while he couldn’t see most of what he and Optimus were up to by the end of Strika’s wheezing attack, he could not deny that that was his voice on the other end of the recording, promising his spark away to his former rival and crooning over him like he was the one bleeding out on a medberth.

Not that Megatron would be worried if he were…

At least their entire Earth teams hadn’t bared witness to the display, as they had when it’d been Blitzwing and Bumblebee accidentally confessing to one another. And that had been fairly explicit in its presentation, too.

So it could have been worse…

Optimus, with his flushed face, wasn’t looking at him like he shared that opinion anymore, though….

————

Actually, Optimus is gay as fuck right now and he wants to do that again please, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, you know how his insecurities are

#Ceasefire Au #transformers animated #morphine tastes like meeting an Angel #tfa #tfa optimus #Optimus Prime #megop #tfa megop #Megatron #tfa Megatron #this poor baby #Megan and Timothy both #tfa Ratchet #tfa strika

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jeanette-luminia · 1 year

Note

Hey can you do a Larissa x femreader where reader insecurities get the best of her (age gap and how she looks maybe) and Larissa being stressed with work just push her more down to that hole and theres no happy ending...... sorry i just want to have a good cry

𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 || 𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑺𝑺𝑨 𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑴𝑺

a/n: I didn't expect requests to be quite overwhelming but I love it! I had fun writing this cuz I love angst, thank you anon. <3

“Doesn’t it feel weird?” your friend, Aera, said out of nowhere. Confused, you stopped drinking your coffee and tilted your head, pushing her to continue.

“I mean, Larissa’s older than you,” she said. You gripped your cup a little too hard as you kept still in your seat.

Don’t start this again.”

“I’m only stating my opinion.”

“Well, some opinions should be kept inside.” your anger was seeping, feeling your head boiling. “Y/N, she’s 43, you’re 24. Shouldn’t you be with someone who’s… I don’t know, a closer to your age?” she tried to reason.

“So what? I love her, and we’re both adults.”

“Jesus Christ, when was the last time she actually paid attention to you?” you stopped. People around you always talk about that feeling when they realize something big. When they froze. When they felt like time suddenly stopped. The feeling of your heart sinking. You were sure yourself you wouldn’t have to feel that. Everything was okay. You and Larissa are okay.

Yet you sit still, feeling your stomach drop, it almost made you sick. Everything around you was a blur. You felt your heartache, reaching your fingertips. Usually, you like the feeling of it while reading a sad book that made you sob. But at this moment, it hurts.

“S—she’s just busy.” You tremble.

“That’s bullshit. You’re forgetting that you’ve complained to me that your girlfriend hasn’t been giving you attention.”

You looked at Aera. “how much?”

“How much what?” she looked puzzled.

“How much have I been complaining?”

“...” she stared at you for a moment, before taking a deep breath. “At least every other day for weeks.” you bring your hand to your face, and you took a shaky breath as you feel an overwhelming emotion take over you.

“Listen, I’m not saying this just because I want to ruin your relationship, because I know you love her so much and that you are happy with her. But for fuck sake know your worth.” She took your hand.

“You should be with someone who will be there when you need them. I understand that she’s busy but avoiding you isn’t the answer. You should be with someone who will make time for you and is younger than her. ”

You wipe the tear that has slipped, composing yourself. “I’ll talk to her.”

You walked along the corridor, the sun was setting, and the students has retreated to their own dorm rooms. You were sure Larissa was still on her desk. Seemingly enough, you were right.

You walked in quietly, wanting to get this over with as your heart pound like someone is playing the drums. Larissa didn’t even look up to see who entered, her eyes is glued to her laptop screen.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, love.”

“How many times will I tell you to knock before coming inside?” she briefly looked in your direction before going back to typing on her laptop. She was annoyed and her patient was running on thin ice.

You thought about backing away, letting this conversation be discussed at another time. But here you are, standing in front of her desk.

“We need to talk.”

She paused, looking up at you. You saw how annoyed she was, being disturbed by her work. It’s just like how your parents look at you.

“We can talk later, dear.” she pushed away.

You shook your head. “No. Let’s talk now.”

She sighed and massage the bridge of your nose. “What?”

You looked down, feeling an overwhelming anticipation rise up from your body. You took a deep breath before saying: “You haven’t paid attention to me.” you felt your anxiety rise, and words end up in a whisper at the end.

You heard her chuckle, and you heard your heart crack.

“Y/N, that's all you want to talk about?”

“Y–yes but-”

“I’ve been busy, my dear. Running an entire school with supernatural teenagers is harder than your job.” she gritted her teeth, holding her anger. She’d been stressed by the recent activities. Wednesday has been causing trouble all over town and Sheriff Galpin has been complaining none stop.

Her anger wasn’t towards you, she just has a lot going on right now.

You felt anger bubbling all over you. “Even so, you should take a break and maybe spend time with me.”

“Not everything is about you.”

“Oh really? Coming from the person who just said that running an entire school with supernatural teenagers is harder than my job.” You retorted. You had enough of her little act.

“You know what I mean.”

“No! I don’t get what you mean! Why is work more important to me? I understand that you are keeping the school working but you need a break as well and I—”

You jumped as she slammed her hand on her desk, flinching away as she rose from her seat. “You’re acting like a child Y/N! You need to grow up and realize that not everything is about you!”

You’re acting like a child Y/N. she thinks you’re just a child. Just like everyone thinks of you being in a relationship with her.

You’re too young for her.

She’ll think you're a child.

She will have power over you.

She’s too old to be your partner.

Suddenly you feel tears in your eyes, your lips wobble in fear of her hurting you much more than she’s hurting you right now. You felt as if your heart was broken, broken into a million pieces. Maybe she wasn’t for you, you were just forcing it to work out.

Larissa paused, witnessing the damage she just caused. Your figure trembles as she towers over you. Your tears uncontrollably fall. You shield yourself against hers. She realized she became the monster she promised not to.

“Love, I–”

“Don't.”

She walked towards you, but you backed away. “You have no idea how much I’ve endured just to keep our relationship,” you said. “You have no idea how much I’ve heard people say how I should date people around my age. People say that I’m way too younger for you or you’re way too old for me. How you’ll think of me as a child.” you let everything out. The anger, the pain, the insecurities.

“I felt insecure about our relationship and you weren’t there for me! For us!” you cried, not caring about how loud you were being. “You’re always at work. I’m busy with work too but I make time for you. I wished that if I make time for you, you’d do the same.” you bring up a hand to cover your face. Your voice became hoarse and trembling.

“I guess I’m just a child.”

Her heart stung from the word she said. “No no no, you’re not a child, I was just stressed and was caught up with work.” she tried to reason out.

“Please love, I’m sorry I– I’ll make time for you. I promise. I’ll clear my schedule—”

“Too late.” she paused.

“... what?”

“Let’s end this Larissa,” you said, as you stared at her. “No please, Y/N. I’d do anything just don’t go—I’ll make time for you. Please love.” tears swell up in the corner of her eye. She wants you to stay. She needs you to stay. You were her home. The sole reason why she comes home.

“Goodbye Larissa.” You whispered, walking away from the distraught figure who is still trying to process everything.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m so sorry.” she cried out. Her knees gave in as she falls to the ground. As she heard the door close, she looked. You weren’t there anymore. You left her.

She cried that night, drinking a whole bottle of champagne. Burring her sorrow as she cried herself to sleep, hoping it was just a bad dream, and that you’d be there to comfort her when she wakes up.

You weren’t there anymore. She patted the empty side of her bed, realizing that you had left her. She cried that day, she couldn’t bring herself to go to work.

You were her last love. While she was just a love passing by, she was your second love. The love that hurts the most.

She watches you from afar. Dancing with your partner, in a beautiful white lacy dress and a veil on your hair. You were with the lover you deserve, the one who won’t be the reason she cries, the person who will make you happy, the person who will be there for you like she wished she was there.

Watches through the shadows. She brings her hand up to her neck, fidgeting with the necklace with a ring on.

It’s a bittersweet feeling, she still loves you. She never stopped loving you. She planned to propose to you after every workload she had. While trying to finish everything as early as possible, she ends up hurting you. Tears fell down her face, laughing at herself.

She would have been the one dancing with you right now.

#☕: writes #💬: answers #larissa weems x reader #gwendoline christie x reader #larissa weems #gwendoline christie

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sluttyhollow · 1 year

Text

It's cuffing season, And all the girls are leaving to get a big boy, I need a big boy, I want a big boy...

Toshinori Yagi (All Might) x black f!gn!reader

warnings: size kink, rough sex, short reader, oral (f+m recieving), brat reader (reader won't submit without a fight ), dom all might, pre all for one fight (beef cake toshi), fem bodied reader with gn pronouns, full Nelson, mirror sex, unprotected sex (use condoms kids), little fluff and aftercare, use of baby/ little one/ brat, reader gets picked up (Toshi weighs at least 400lbs in muscle form he can pick you up), reader has a time suspension quirk

Notes: somewhat proofread, reader is descriptively black! But y’all feel free to read if you want 🤷🏽‍♀️

It's not even that you were small, just a little on the shorter side. At least compared to normal people you were just short but compared to him... Well he made you look and feel small because everything about him was so big...

Walking next to your man you always wondered what people thought about the two of you, not that you cared or would change anything but he was standing 7 feet tall body made of pure muscle compared to your 5 foot frame. Plus his hero status and the fact that you were obviously a foreigner, with brown skin and textured hair, you two probably made quite the sight.

Never the less, though it made things like kissing and dancing harder, there benefits of being with a man this big extended far past safety and comfort.

The first being how effortlessly he held your thrashing body into the bed. Arms pinning your thighs flat to the bed adding just enough weight to them to prevent you from running from the assault his tongue was giving to your pussy. You were useless against everything he was giving you and fuck he just kept giving you more.

Gripping the two peaks of his hair and trying to pull his head away from your body proved to be even more of a pitiful attempt. He simply moved one big arm across both of your legs and the other one made its way to your hands gripping both in one hand before pulling his self from his meal to look you in the eyes

"You'll Keep still for me won't you, behave, be a good little baby for me and take what I'm giving you"

You were never one for listening to Toshi, it's not that you didn't respect him, he was All Might for fucks sake, but something about him asking you for something made you want to tell him no. Tell him to make you, make him make you. You couldn't help it, he was always so nice and warm, like a teddy bear even when he was fighting dangerous villains he was always smiling. You just really needed to work that smile of his face sometimes. So you did what you do best,

"No" which followed with you squirming more to break free of the hold he currently held you in. Wiggling your lower half trying to scoot further up the bed which ended up putting your pussy right back in his face. Smile still plastered across his face he nipped the side of your thigh those blue eyes fixing you with a pointed look that said behave or else, before he dove face first back into his meal. When he felt like you weren't going to thrash around anymore you felt the arm holding your legs back move and two thick fingers begin to poke at your hole. Licking a strip from the bottom to your clit he kept his tongue working there while his fingers finally slipped in to start working you open for him. He was just too good, the thickness of his fingers and the way his tongue was working against your clit you felt your first, of many to come, orgasm creeping upon you. Before you could peak completely, you shoved your foot in Toshi's face kicking him back from your body just slightly enough to break contact.

A deep sigh ran through the man before he fixed those blues on you again "I thought I told you to be good little one" still smiling though those eyes were starting to harden into something a little more dangerous, a little more feral. A clicking of his tongue could be heard before you were being drug off the bed by your ankles which were quickly thrown over his shoulders as he stood up with you dangling from his neck like a necklace. A low chuckle leaving his mouth before he shoved his face back between the pillows of your legs and resumed his task, this time with much more vigor. Biting your lip to hold every noise he was pulling out of you in, your muscles kept rapidly contracting as he pushed you into your orgasm. Mind going blank as white noise filled your ears you barely managed to hold the deep moan your body wanted to release within your throat. Mouth opening in a silent scream.

“Tsk” large arms wrapping to release the hold your ankles had formed around his neck before gripping your waist and unceremoniously dropping you back on to the bed. Gaining your whereabouts, you opened your eyes to see Toshi standing above you, arms crossed, eyes squinted just a tiny bit and that smile of his starting to drop into something much more akin to a smirk

“I asked you to behave little one and here you are finding another way to disobey me” his hands reached down to pull his shirt over his head revealing his perfectly toned upper half to you before undoing his belt buckle and sliding his both his pants and underwear down in one motion. Springing free and standing at rapt attention his dick was now right in front of you. Intimidating in its size and girth with a flushed red tip that was leaking the smallest drops of pre from it.

Which bought you to number 2.5 his dick was so big and so pretty you just couldn’t help but develop an affinity for having it in your mouth whenever you could.

“Come here little one” this time you moved without much of a fuss, for now at least, lest he stop you from putting him in your mouth. Dropping to your knees in front of him you wrapped one of your hands around his base and placed the other one firmly on his thigh. Opening your mouth just wide enough to let your tongue out you started kitten licking the length of his shaft that your hand wasn’t covering. Running them rough surface if your tongue across his tip a few times you ducked in between your lips before letting it slide into your mouth causing Toshi to groan above you. Grabbing either side of your head he held you still letting you continue your exploration of his length with your mouth. It was a pa to you already knew well but continued to traverse as new territory every time.

“Look at my sweet baby, feels so good having that mouth around me” his words causing you to moan around him. Losing yourself in the feeling of him on your taste buds you had been gradually speeding up your ministrations causing Toshi to start bucking into your mouth to meet your movements. He was getting close, coupious amounts of your combined mixture leaking through the cracks in your pretty lips making a few groan rack through his body. Not wanting to release himself just yet, he made to pull you off of him only to realize you’d used your quirk on him, temporarily suspending his movements. Moving from between his hands and pushing his thick cock further down your throat until your nose grazed the blonde hair spread across his abdomen. You kept your head there barely moving away before coming back down. Toshis moans growing deeper and his breathing breaking into a rapid staccato before you felt his cum shooting fast and hot down your throat. You quickly released your quirk allowing him to grab your hair and yank you back causing the rest of his milky seed to paint the pretty brown skin of your face.

“Insolent little brat” opening your eyes that had fallen closed you noticed that you’d gotten what you initially wanted, Toshis smile was gone. Blue eyes cutting through you with lustful rage, teeth bared as if he was geared to attack at any second. “I let you get away with it all night, gave you chance after chance to be good for me but you just couldn’t do that for me could you” a big hand grabbing your cheeks, squishing them between two large fingers and shaking your head no for you. “I even gave you a treat that you didn’t deserve and you took advantage of it baby” the last word falling out of his mouth with a coo before you were once again lifted from the ground. Your back hit his chest, his arms coming to fold your legs to your chest before his hands were interlocked firmly behind your head. In the time it took him to set you up, he’d also moved to stand right in front of the custom wall length mirror on the far side of the room.

“Look at yourself, now”

Your eyes quickly shot up meeting his through the glass and letting a moan drip out from the sight of yourself. Spread open for his viewing your leaky sex on display front and center. Your face every bit of sinful and his matched perfectly and Cock standing at attention right below the globes of your ass

“How pitiful, you’ve gotten so quiet” he leaned his head right next to your ear before whispering “lose your will to fight that fast baby” chuckling lowly before moving to impale you on him.

Which bought you to number 3 and 4. He always filled you so well, so perfectly and fucked you so good you couldn’t disobey him for the next few days even if you wanted to. Broke you down so pleasantly you would have to listen to his every word so he could put you back together.

“Toooshiii fuuck I’m sorry” head lulling back against his sweat covered chest, eyes flittering closed half way. The words were barely audible over the incessant wet smacking of him against you. The flushed red of his cock looked so pretty nestled between the pink of your inner lips, sliding in and leaving a trail of semi translucent slick across his length as he came back out, a little white ring forming around his base.

“There’s my good little baby, taking me so well, being so good for me” his words of praise for your finally obedient behavior causing you to clench down around him harder pushing you closer to your next orgasm. Feeling the change, he released his hands from behind your head, moved one arm to the front to hold your legs up, forearm falling just across the space between your neck and collar bone. The other hand snaked it’s way to your clit rubbing quick circles into the little nub causing you to arch your back and release on of the sexiest moans he had ever heard

“Come for me, now” And you did, squirting covering your thighs and his hand as it dripped down to cover your ass increasing the sound of wet skin slapping

“So fucking good for me, I’m going to use you to cum okay, just sit there and take it for me” adding just the slightest bit more strength to his thrust, he continued to fuck up into you before he finally released himself into you. It was so good and so much, another perk of having such a big man taking care of you. Filling your womb and belly satiating the remaining desire inside you and leaving you all too satisfied. Once you both started breathing at temporal rhythm again, he slid himself out of you, a fat glob of his cum sliding out with him staining the floor, and laid you across the bed. He momentarily walk away to grab the necessities to clean you up before sliding clean underwear on you both and climbing in bed and pulling you beside him.

Which bought you back to the beggining. He was so soft even with planes of muscle that one he wrapped you in his arms, your were falling asleep soon after. Whispering a barely audible thank you to your man before tapping out completely while he planted barely there kisses across your face.

#yagi toshinori #all might #all might smut #toshinori yagi x reader #all might x reader #all might x black reader #x black reader #shwritestoshinoriyagi #shwritesallmight #shwrites #long fic #mha

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evanesdust · 5 months

Text

more than enough

written for- @sterekfests prompt: “Let it snow.” @sterekweekly word: flurry @sterekbingo (Christmas) square: scarf

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Additional Tags: POV Stiles Stilinski, Canon Compliant, Future Fic, Secret Crush, There Was Only One Bed, Confessions, Getting Together, Frottage, Friends to Lovers

Summary:

...the one where Stiles and Derek were forced to hole up in a cabin during a sudden snowstorm. Of course, there was only one bed.

Fucking ogres.

Stiles grumbled under his breath as he and Derek trudged through the snow, heading back to…well, he hoped they were heading back to town, but it was dark and, at the moment, he was wholly relying on Derek's sense of direction since they were deep in the woods.

Why couldn't the evil supernatural creatures ever live somewhere conveniently located? Like a lovely suburban cul-de-sac? But no, they always had to choose the creepiest, most inaccessible places.

The snow was getting heavier by the minute, and Stiles could barely feel his toes. Seriously, it felt like they'd been walking for-fucking-ever. They had to be lost.

"We're not lost," Derek growled as if he could read Stiles's thoughts—which, who knew, with all the weird werewolf mojo, maybe he could. Plus, Derek was all evolved now or whatever. "We've only been walking for ten minutes…"

Stiles's teeth chattered and he pulled his flannel tighter around him. Christ, he’d kill for one of Isaac’s scarves right now. It was far from enough in the biting cold.

"Well, it feels like forever," Stiles retorted, his breath misting in the air. He stumbled over a hidden root, and Derek's hand shot out to steady him. A surprising warmth lingered even after he let go, and Stiles couldn't help but wish for a bit more of that werewolf heat.

His wish was granted when Derek shrugged out of his leather jacket, offering it to Stiles with a gruff, "Take it."

"But what about you?" Stiles asked, even as he grabbed the jacket and quickly slipped it on. Derek's scent was strong on the leather and embarrassingly comforting—embarrassing because Stiles thought he was doing exceptionally well hiding his crush on Derek from people who could sniff out emotions. Sometimes, he thought maybe Derek might like him too, but if he did, he was even better at hiding it than Stiles.

"I'm fine," Derek replied, his voice betraying none of the chill Stiles knew he must feel. Werewolves might run hot, but it was fucking snowing. "You need it more and besides, we're almost there."

Stiles stopped, tilting his head in confusion. It had taken at least an hour to find where the ogre had holed up—a run-down cabin camouflaged by the dense forest—and then he ran, fleeing even further into the woods. And that was before all the snow. "We're almost where?"

"To the ogre's cabin."

Was that supposed to be helpful in some way? Because Stiles didn't find it helpful in the least.

"Why are we going back to the cabin?" Nonono. Stiles wanted to go home. He wanted to crawl into bed and pass out under a mound of warm blankets.

Derek's pace didn't falter. "Because it's close. We're never going to make it back to town in this storm, so it's the safest place right now."

Reluctantly, Stiles had to agree. If they kept going in this blizzard, they'd probably turn into human popsicles. Well, he would. Derek would probably be okay.

"Fine," he huffed, quickening his pace to keep up with Derek's long strides. "But I just want it known that I'm protesting this whole plan internally."

Derek merely grunted in response, and they continued in silence for a while. The only sound was the crunch of their boots in the fresh snow and the howling wind.

As they continued on, the cabin finally came into view. Despite the circumstances, Stiles couldn't quite suppress the relief flooding through him. They made it. The warmth from Derek's jacket seeped deeper into his bones, and for a moment, he allowed himself to lean into the comfort it provided.

The door was ajar, swinging slightly in the wind, its hinges creaking with neglect.

Stiles held the jacket closer to him, pushing through the increasing snowfall. "Hopefully there's firewood."

Derek nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a predatory alertness. "Stay close. We don't know if he set up defenses before fleeing."

They approached the cabin cautiously, the eerie creaks and groans of the wooden building making Stiles's hair stand on end, but the prospect of shelter compelled him forward. As they stepped inside, Derek immediately went to work, checking the corners of the single-room cabin for any traps the ogre might have left behind.

The place was a mess, with overturned furniture and scattered belongings—an obvious sign of a hasty departure. Stiles, however, made a beeline for the stone fireplace dominating one wall. He crouched, hands shaking from cold and adrenaline, and scraped together the charred logs and kindling remnants.

"Here," Derek said, offering a lighter he'd found on a shelf.

Stiles flicked it on and a small flame danced to life. He carefully coaxed the fire, feeding it until it crackled and roared, the warmth slowly pushing back the cold. With a sigh, he huddled closer to the hearth, moaning as he spread his fingers to soak in the heat. "Thank fuck. That feels good."

Derek watched him for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze, before turning his attention back to the room. Stiles, meanwhile, let his eyes drift closed, the heat lulling him into a sense of security.

The storm raged on outside, but it was surprisingly peaceful inside the cabin. The only sounds now were the fire's comforting pops and hisses, and the tromp of Derek's boots as he walked around the room.

When Stiles felt warm enough, he opened his eyes and found Derek stationed by the window, peering out into the snow-laden darkness.

"You should sleep," Derek said without turning, his voice carrying a commanding edge that allowed no room for argument. "I'll keep watch in case there are other threats."

"Do you think there might be?" Stiles asked, walking into the small kitchen. He was kind of hungry but doubted he should eat anything here.

"I don't know." Derek caught his gaze. "Probably not, but there's only one bed so it doesn't matter. Take it and sleep."

Well, that didn't seem fair. Especially when Derek had done most—read: all—the work fighting the ogre. Stiles could be useful, but he was only human. It was Derek's strength and werewolf senses that had really saved their hides. Plus, Stiles knew how draining it was to be constantly on high alert, which Derek had been since discovering an ogre roaming the forests surrounding the town.

"We can share," Stiles suggested; the words were out before he could consider how they sounded. "You need rest, too."

Derek's eyes narrowed, but Stiles could tell he was considering the proposal, weighing the options. After a moment, he nodded. "Fine."

Stiles knew that was as much of an agreement as he would get from Derek. Sharing a bed with Derek Hale wasn't something he'd expected to happen ever, let alone tonight, but given the circumstances, it seemed like the right thing to do. Besides, his inner voice had no qualms about the arrangement, reminding him there were worse things than being close to the person he harbored a secret crush on.

He moved toward the bed, trying his best not to seem too eager or awkward about it. Derek followed after a last check of the perimeter, his movements precise and efficient.

"Alright. How should we do this?" Stiles asked, taking off Derek's jacket, followed by his flannel. His pant legs were still pretty soaked, so he should probably take them off, but it would be weird, right?

"Pretty sure you get in the bed and sleep," Derek replied dryly, though his lips twitched as if he were fighting a smile.

Stiles stuck his tongue out like a petulant child. "I meant like with our clothes, jackass."

He gestured to his pants and then to Derek's, which were also wet from the snow. Damp clothes would make the cold seep back in, no matter how warm the fire was.

Derek rolled his eyes as if he couldn't believe they were having this conversation. "Take off whatever's wet to dry by the fire."

Stiles nodded, though his cheeks warmed with a blush that Derek, thankfully, couldn't see in the dimly lit room. He hoped. Instead of focusing on that, he stripped off his pants and hung them close to the fireplace as Derek did the same.

Without another word, they crawled into bed. It was awkward, to say the least, because the bed was small and cramped, definitely not made for two grown men. Stiles laid on his side, facing away from Derek and keeping a respectable distance while trying to share the small blanket.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Derek muttered before the bed jostled as he shifted, and the next thing Stiles knew, he was pulled back against Derek's chest.

Stiles went rigid in his arms, his heart thumping erratically against his chest. He hadn't expected the physical contact, the solid warmth of Derek's body pressing against his back, but he tried to relax. It was a practical arrangement, after all—body heat was a good thing in this cold.

"You okay?" Derek's voice was softer now, right by Stiles's ear, making him shiver. But if anyone asked, Stiles would blame it on the warmth Derek exuded instead.

"Yeah, just...wasn't expecting that," Stiles admitted, hoping his voice didn't betray the nervous excitement fluttering in his stomach. Derek's breath was steady against his neck, a grounding presence that somehow made the cabin feel smaller, more intimate.

"Your heart's beating fast," Derek said without a hint of his usual gruffness. His arm stayed in place, firm and protective, and Stiles couldn't deny the comfort that came with it.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked, trying not to focus on how good it felt to be held like that.

"Yes. Yeah, this is okay." Derek paused, and for a moment, Stiles could almost believe he heard hesitation in his voice.

"Just, you know, warn me before you go all werewolf-cuddle mode on me in the future."

Despite the gravity of their situation, Derek let out a short, unexpected chuckle—a sound Stiles filed away in his mental archive of 'rare Derek moments'.

"Will do," Derek promised, the warmth in his tone wrapping around Stiles just as securely as his arm.

Stiles wasn't sure what prompted him to say it, but the words slipped out regardless. "Does that mean this is something that could happen again?"

His heart beat rabbit-fast, waiting for Derek's answer. There was silence for a moment, long enough that Stiles thought he might not get a response. But then Derek shifted, his hold tightening just a fraction.

"Is that something you'd want?" Derek finally asked, and Stiles could hear the uncertainty mingled with something else, something that sounded suspiciously like hope.

Stiles flipped over, needing to see Derek's face. To make sure he wasn't reading into it. But Derek was looking at him with an intensity that made Stiles's breath catch in his throat.

"Yeah," Stiles breathed out, the honesty of the moment stripping away any pretense. "Yes, it's definitely something I'd want."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Derek seemed to search his face, as if he were looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But there was none to find. Stiles's gaze was earnest and unwavering, though he definitely had questions. Like how long had Derek had feelings for him? And why didn't he ever say anything?

Finally, Derek's expression softened, a rare vulnerability showing through his usual stoicism. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—a genuine smile that lit up his features in a way that made Stiles's heart skip a beat.

"Good," Derek said simply before closing the distance between them with a slight shift, their faces just inches apart now—their noses almost brushing. It was intimate and terrifying and perfect all at once.

Stiles wondered if his feelings were written as clearly on his face as Derek's were now.

"Stiles," Derek whispered, something vulnerable in his voice that Stiles had never heard before. It made him want to close the gap, to press his lips against Derek's, and end the torture of this proximity. But he didn't want to assume. Didn't want to push Derek away with his own desperation.

"Yeah?" Stiles managed to reply, his voice barely above a breath.

"Kiss me."

So Stiles did. He closed the distance between them, fingers gingerly cupping Derek's jaw as their lips met. It was a soft, hesitant kiss at first, as if they were both still questioning the reality of the moment. But then Derek's hand slid into Stiles's hair, anchoring him, deepening the kiss with a quiet intensity that sent a surge of heat through Stiles's veins.

Stiles pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Derek's.

"This is really happening, isn't it?" he asked, his voice laced with wonder and a hint of amazement.

Derek's response was a gentle nudge of his nose against Stiles's, a silent affirmation that yes, this was real, this was them—together in a way they hadn't been before.

And then Derek kissed him again, this time with a confidence that spread warmth through Stiles's entire body. Each move felt like staking a claim, each touch a promise of more to come. The kiss grew deeper—hungrier—as if they had all the time in the world and yet couldn't get close enough.

Stiles traced the lines of Derek's back, feeling his muscles tense and relax under his touch.

Derek growled against his mouth, rolling them over and pressing Stiles into the mattress. God, Derek felt so good above him—their bodies aligning perfectly.

"Stiles," Derek broke the kiss, his voice a gruff murmur as he looked down at him. "Are you sure? Because once we start this—"

"I've never been more sure about anything," Stiles interrupted, his words a fervent whisper. Derek's eyes held his for a moment before they softened, the last trace of hesitance melting away.

Their lips met again, the kiss now laced with the certainty of shared intent, the previous tentativeness replaced by a fervid, mutual desire. Their minimal clothing was too much, too constricting, and it was a flurry of limbs as they worked together to remove the final barriers between them.

Derek's hands roamed over Stiles's body, every touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Stiles arched into his touch, driven by instinct and the magnetic pull of Derek's presence.

"Tell me what you want," Derek whispered, his lips tracing the shell of Stiles's ear, sending shivers down his spine.

Everything, he wanted to say. But Stiles knew that couldn't happen. They didn't have lube or condoms, and he was too impatient—too desperate—to stop and search for something that could possibly work as an alternative. Instead, he locked his legs around Derek's waist and rolled his hips, showing Derek what he needed without words.

Derek seemed to understand and responded in kind, thrusting against Stiles—a low growl vibrating from deep within his chest as their cocks rubbed together, sending a wave of pleasure through Stiles's body. Their movements became a language of their own, communicating hunger, need, and an aching sort of tenderness. The friction was both maddening and exquisite, a perfect storm of sensations that left them both gasping for air.

Stiles reached up, tangling his fingers in Derek's hair and pulling him down for another searing kiss. He lost himself to the moment. To Derek and the heat and urgency between them. Their rhythm grew more desperate, each thrust a plea for release.

Groans and bitten-off moans filled the air, along with the sound of their breaths intermingling as Stiles chased a release that was buildingbuildingbuilding. Derek's hand found Stiles's, interlacing their fingers as if to ground himself—to remind him that this was real.

As the edge approached, that sweet precipice that promised oblivion and ecstasy intertwined, Stiles panted, his voice ragged with need. "Derek."

He pressed the heels of his feet into Derek's lower back, encouraging him. Urging him on. Derek was close, he could tell. It was like an electric charge crackling in the air around them. Derek's pace quickened, his movements now driven by a primal urgency that matched Stiles's own. They were deliberate. More focused as he drove them both toward that edge.

With a few more purposeful thrusts, Stiles came, moaning Derek's name like a mantra. Derek followed soon after, giving a hoarse shout, and Stiles felt the warmth of his release spill between them.

As they collapsed together, limbs entwined, chests heaving, it was as if they were suspended in time, the only two people in existence, their connection transcendent and absolute. Or, at least, that was how Stiles felt as he melted into the mattress with Derek's face buried in the crook of his neck, nipping and sucking. Marking him. He could feel the dampness of sweat where their skin met. It was a vulnerability, a trust that Stiles had never expected to share with anyone, let alone Derek Hale.

As their breathing slowed, the silence wasn't awkward but rather full of the unsaid, the tentative beginnings of something new and infinitely precious.

Derek's voice was soft when he finally spoke. "Stiles, that was…"

"Yeah," Stiles agreed—because words were inadequate to capture the enormity of what had just happened. In the stillness, Stiles could feel Derek's heartbeat, a steady rhythm that seemed to sync with his own. He smiled to himself, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a way that felt like pure, unadulterated happiness.

He ran his fingers down Derek's back, slowly and gently, and asked his unvoiced question from earlier. "So how come you never said anything?"

Derek propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Stiles with an expression that was equal parts exasperated and fond, as if he knew the question was coming.

"Do you really have to ask? I'm not exactly great with words," he said simply, brushing a stray lock of hair from Stiles's forehead. "And maybe I wasn't ready to say it."

"But now?" Stiles prodded, his gaze locking with Derek's, searching for the answer in his eyes.

"Now, I don't want to hide that from you, or from myself. Not anymore," Derek confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want this—us."

He pressed a gentle kiss to Stiles's brow, a silent pledge. Stiles's heart swelled at the confession, knowing his own feelings mirrored Derek's in a perfect reflection.

"Good," Stiles breathed out, his fingers tracing patterns on Derek's skin, memorizing the feel of him, the reality of him. "Because I want this too—more than you know."

Derek smiled and then leaned in for another kiss, soft and sweet.

Stiles didn't know what the future held or how they would navigate the reality of this new relationship. But at the moment, he didn't need answers or plans. He had Derek here with him, and that was enough—more than enough.

#sterek #sterekfestssnow #sterekfestswinter2023 #sterekfests #sterekweeklyflurry #sterekweekly #sterekbingo #holy shit i wrote something

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verbenaa · 1 month

Text

to eden | chapter two

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words are weak, spoken as her back arches. Astarion’s tongue licks flat against her skin once more, drinking up another line of blood that makes its way down her neck and towards her collarbone.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, my dear.” Astarion places a small kiss against the marks, blood still leaking out of the wounds.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/Female!Tav 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: M 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 4,813k 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: light angst, implied substance abuse, blood drinking, poor coping mechanisms, unresolved sexual tension

𝒶/𝓃: FINALLY posting chapter two of this story, and I apologize for how long it's taken for me to get to this point! But it is here now and ready to be read. Let me know if you liked it and tell me what you think! Thank you all for following me along on this journey!

ao3

masterlist

There isn’t enough room.

Rin paces back and forth the span of her tent—three steps forward and three steps back—as she tries to calm herself. Her heart beats loud in her ears, the notes of it frantic within the confines of her chest as a leaded weight settles somewhere deep in her stomach, lungs constricting on every breath in and out as the walls seemingly close in.

All Rin can see is that little girl—Arabella, that was her name, wasn’t it?—laying there motionless on the ground, the life leaking from her small body with every passing second until it’s finally gone, spilled out of her like a cup overturned.

It’s an image she doesn’t know if she will ever be able to escape from, one Rin will be cursed to see behind her eyelids every time they close. She’s far from a stranger to death, her own hands long soiled with such things in the name of survival, but it never makes it any easier.

It all weighs too heavy on her soul, however patchwork it may be. She’s not made for such things.

For this.

Rin feels so far from anyone’s definition of a hero and certainly is no bleeding heart.

But she did not want that girl to die.

And yet, in the end, it does not matter because Rin can still hear Arabella’s parents wailing cries, sobs wracking their bones and weakening their knees as they fall onto the well-worn stone, lost in their grief for a child no longer of this world.

Their misery is like a depthless, gaping hole that lives somewhere in the back of her chest, the darkness of it threatening to eviscerate her very being as it grabs ahold of her ribs as if they were the bars of a cage.

A small piece of Rin’s heart breaks for them. She can’t truly relate, of course, she never quite had much of a family to begin with. But she can at the very least empathize with what it must feel like to see something so important—so wanted and loved— slip through fingers like grains of sand, unable to ever be truly held in hand again.

Her legs slow to a stop as she stands near one of the poles of her tent, leaning to rest her head on the rough wood as she braces her hands, trying desperately to take deep breaths and calm the rampant beating in her chest.

Arabella’s death, her parents mourning for a girl-shaped piece of their heart now lost, Halsin yet to be found deep within the goblin’s lair…

It’s all just too much.

Rin wants to forget about it all, needs to forget, and wishes not for the first time that she had simply been a casualty of the Nautiloid instead of one chosen for some yet unknown reason.

There’s a familiar want pulsing through her body, an urge to push all of the thoughts and feelings out of her mind; and the sudden pull towards the cache of wine that promises relief sitting somewhere outside the tent is a draw she can’t ignore as she swivels mid-step to face the small flap of fabric separating her panicked mind from the outside world.

With hurried feet Rin steps out into the fresh air of the night in a rush, flipping back the striped tent flap without care as she walks into the quiet of camp, any thoughts of stealth or poise discarded as she surveys the landscape around her in a desperate search for one of the many darkened glass bottles collected during their adventures.

The world is still at this hour, no one present but a lone figure sitting by the warmth of the fire, a head of white curls downturned towards something in his hands, his silhouette illuminated by the flickering gold of the fire.

Astarion.

Rin’s feet still as she stares at the place where he sits, eyes stuck on his form as Astarion’s back straightens; no doubt hearing her less than subtle entrance into the night.

She wants to retreat, desperately wishes she could return to her tent but she can’t. Not when she can still feel the staccato rhythm of her heart against her rib cage and the panic clawing up her throat aching to be free.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, little bard?” Astarion keeps his voice low, the words drifting over to where she stands behind him, not bothering to turn and look at her.

Her breath comes out of her in short little bursts, a hand coming to grasp at her tunic over her chest, gripping the fabric in between her fingers as she works to find something to say.

“I…couldn’t sleep.” She stands frozen to the dusty ground below, willing her voice to carry her usual casual composure. Instead it comes out just a shade too soft, a touch too unsure; a difference from her normal put-on confidence that Astarion no doubt notices.

Astarion always paid attention despite attempts to pretend otherwise, quick eyes always looking and pointed ears always listening, ready to glean whatever knowledge he can to find something to exploit. It’s one of the things about Astarion that Rin understands, an aspect of him that she so easily sees in her own self.

There had been something different between them ever since that moment in the cave, a subtle something new gleaming in Astarion’s eyes when he looks her way that she has been thoroughly unable to solve the mystery of. She knows she is nothing more than a game to him though she’s still unsure of the rules, as though she was playing a game of chess set in his favor.

Astarion was still just as flippant and haughty as ever, but there was a distinctly unfamiliar note to it all. A new tolerance, perhaps, between companions that wasn’t nearly as unwelcome as Rin had thought it would be.

“Well, are you planning to stand there all night then?” Astarion lifts his head slowly, his words already affected with impatience that break her out of her thoughts.

Rin briefly considers retreating back to her tent without a word, but the promise of caging herself back inside her own mind is simply not an option. Rin’s eyes dart around, looking once more for the bottles she seeks before coming up unsuccessful.

On soft footfalls, she makes her way over to where the fire roars in front of Astarion, the warmth of the flames brushing against her cheeks as she nears him. She can still feel the quick beats of her heart, thumping away as she lets loose a shaky breath.

With a quick look at the log on which Astarion sits calm before the fire, she lowers herself down on the opposite side of him, only a breath of space between their bodies.

Neither speaks as Rin adjusts herself gingerly on the wood, raising a foot to rest against the roundness of the log as she rests her chin on the hard bones of her propped knee.

The crackles and pops of the fire fill the nighttime air, the heat emanating from the flames a small comfort as Rin stares into them, the reds and oranges and yellows blending together as its tendrils reach up towards the sky like flowers in search for the sun.

Astarion’s head lowers back down towards his hands, and Rin notices for the first time something white draped over his lap, a corner of it held in one hand as a tiny silver needle sits between the nimble fingers of the other. She shifts herself, cheek moving to press against her kneecap as she swivels her gaze to take in the sight of Astarion sewing, of all things, in its entirety.

With tiny, delicate motions Astarion begins once more, weaving the needle in and out of the fabric—a shirt, she realizes—his hands mesmerizing in their efficiency. Rin may as well not be present for all the attention Astarion gives her, his focus solely on mending the shirt in his hands by the wavering light of the fire.

There’s a hypnotism to his hands at work, something strangely soothing about watching the movements of the needle move in and out, up and down, in a rhythm Astarion had no doubt perfected over his many, many years.

“I didn’t mean for her to die.” Rin doesn’t intend to say the words that rush out faster than she can help them, said on an exhale that escapes her lips without her permission as she stares at Astarion’s hands and the firelight that dances over his pale skin.

“Well you probably should have tried a bit harder then, darling.” He doesn’t pause as he speaks, not deigning her even a passing glance as he continues his work with evenly places stitches moving in a clean line across the fabric.

She expected such brusqueness from him, but it makes her flinch all the same, the line of her shoulders tensing as she squeezes her eyes shut, once more seeing the vision of Arabella’s lifeless eyes staring up into nothing as she lays dead.

“I don’t know what everyone sees in me that makes you all so willing to let me make the decisions. I’m not terribly good at it.” The words are weary as Rin says them, exhaustion dripping from every syllable.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t know what they see in you either,” Astarion gives a long suffering sigh, eyes still downcast. “But our little cadre has decided on you as our fearless leader.” He spits the last two words out with derision, though Rin can’t say she disagrees with his sentiment as she sighs heavily in agreement.

“Has anyone ever told you, Astarion, that you have such a way with words?” Something about his outright honesty draws a small smile to her face, breaking up the tension in her body the smallest bit as she gives a humorless chuckle.

Astarion was nothing if not predictable in his reactions, at the very least.

“One of my finer qualities, certainly.”

Silence fills in between them once more—though not as uncomfortable as it would have once been—the quiet roar of the fire and the soft whisper of fabric in Astarion’s hands the only sounds, silver needle still moving with practiced precision.

With another deep breath Rin wills her body to let go and forget as she leans slightly forward to look beyond Astarion for any sort of alcohol. She’s far from picky and any promise of temporary delirium is as much a blessing as it is a curse. Anything would do in the end to numb her, to shove away the pain and anger and sadness from her mind and pretend as though it didn’t exist.

She spies nothing to her eternal discontent, settling her cheek back onto her knee with a scowl.

The tightness in her chest remains, still a vice around her lungs as she breaths in the night air. It would be so easy to get up and retrieve a bottle of wine or brandy or ale, to drink until the thoughts and feelings and sensations dulled and she could no longer remember who she was or the many mistakes she had made; the same as she had done time and time again as a means to cope.

But something keeps her sitting, a kernel of an idea that maybe she shouldn’t let what happened to Arabella be forgotten, the concept festering in her brain like a wound that refuses to stay stitched.

“I didn’t know you could sew, Astarion. How domestic of you.” Rin’s voice carries out into the air as she breaks the silence, another attempt at distraction from the thoughts clouding her mind.

“What can I say? I’m just full of surprises.” His eyebrows raise as he speaks, features ever expressive if unimpressed by her present conversational abilities.

“Indeed. And here I was thinking your only skills were murder and subterfuge.” Rin punctuates her words with a roll of her eyes, her exasperation towards him a blessedly normal feeling amidst the cascade of unease settled in her body.

“Speaking of subterfuge, you certainly have some quite nefarious skills for a bard, darling. Stealing, cheating, lying…why it’s almost enough to make me jealous.” Astarion gives Rin the barest of glances as he looks towards her, red eyes skating over her face for a brief moment before turning back to the shirt in his hands. “I’d almost think you know your way around a blade far better than that lyre of yours.”

“Well, I never said I was a very good bard, now did I? If you’re not careful, Astarion, I’ll have to take those words as a compliment.”

“Far from it. I don’t give compliments, darling.” Astarion makes sure to send a stern glare in Rin’s direction, a teasing smile on her lips.

“Ah, yes. Of course. Silly me.”

“So, the Elfsong was above your pay grade, then.” Rin decides to ignore the subtle jab in the words on the grounds of building camaraderie, settling instead on a small huff.

“Decidedly. Performing at the Blushing Mermaid would have been considered an honor,” Astarion looks her way again, disbelief written across his face. “There are quite a lot of bards out there, if you hadn’t noticed, so I decided to learn some more…practical skills. Turns out I’m not so terrible with a blade.”

“Well, aren’t you just so very pragmatic.”

With a swift motion, Astarion draws his knife up from the other side of him, severing the needle from the thread with a slice. He ties off the remaining thread with a small knot, pulling the rest through the shirt until it firmly holds against the final stitch.

“One must have gold, unfortunately, to survive. Therefore, I learned other ways to make some that weren’t quite so…reliant, shall we say, on a good natured audience.” She shrugs as best she can in her position, a subtle movement of her shoulders as she continues. “I’ve taken on my share of work with The Guild over the years.”

“Not one for the circus, hm?” Rin swears she can hear a note of amusement in his tone as he speaks, his hands busy with pulling out a small, worn leather pouch and depositing the needle and leftover thread inside.

“And be harassed by clowns day in and day out? I’d rather not. Besides, the wardrobe never suited me.”

That would have to be enough information to sustain him, she was neither in the mood nor drunk enough to delve too much deeper into her past.

Not that there was terribly much to say, anyway.

What worth was there in yet another story of a failing bard from the Lower City who—despite the good-natured attempts of her youth—was unable to sustain herself on her art; forced instead to take on feeble contracts and protection rackets to make a little gold to survive.

It was far from a unique beginning, at the very least.

There’s comfort in the fact that Astarion knows, maybe better than any of them, the price of survival. He would be the last to judge her on any of the less than ethical moments in her past.

Rin’s mind replays another conversation spoken by another campfire only days before, on the heels of a timely visit from a certain devil by the name of Raphael.

A conversation of Astarion’s own past back in Baldur’s Gate and of another vampire—Cazador.

Yet another tick to add to her somehow growing list of ways her perception of him continues to change and grow, a metamorphosis of its own.

200 years of slavery and torture and of no freedom.

200 years of hunger.

The thought of his sanguine hunger brings her mind around to another set of circumstance between the two of them, one bound by blood. He hasn’t asked, but that doesn’t surprise her. Rin knew from the moment she offered in the first place he would never ask for her blood.

Astarion had never seemed like someone who asked for much of anything, not if could steal it with sly fingers and quiet steps instead.

But he hadn’t tried to take it, either. Not like the first time, when he hovered over her sleeping form ready to bite into her neck.

This decision, at least, is a much easier one to make than the first time she found herself questioning it.

“You can feed on me, if you’d like.” Rin asks quietly from her place next to him.

A smirk alights Astarion’s features and the moment of easy exchange between them is gone, replaced instead by a hunger all too evident in his eyes.

“Why you sweet, generous thing,” Astarion’s lips curve up as he speaks, the little tilt of his head like that of a cat with a trapped mouse. “That’s an offer I simply can’t refuse.”

Astarion’s eyes flick downwards towards the line of Rin’s neck, the collar of her lightweight linen tunic falling open ever so slightly to expose the soft skin there. Pink spreads across her cheeks like watercolors at the heat of his gaze, his attention focused wholly on her ever fragile skin.

Rin averts her eyes from his face to fall onto the tendrils of the fire licking at the air, the pops and crackles of the flames low against the otherwise quiet of the late night air. The steady heat that emanates from the fire is like a balm against her skin as she moves to stand on slightly unsteady legs.

Rin keeps her gait easy, attempting to pull off her own version of Astarion’s unaffected grace as she takes several steps towards where he sits waiting, his face expectant as he watches her move and sets his mending to the side in a neatly folded pile.

“You’ll have to come closer than that, darling.” Astarion’s words fall over her like a caress, beckoning her to him, and with a breath Rin steels herself as she closes the last bit of distance between them.

She raises her brow as she stands in wait for further instructions, suddenly imbued with the tiniest bit of confidence, feeling a little more like her self once more as she stares Astarion down.

“Sit, you silly girl.”

“Does this suit you, Saer?” Rin can’t help her tone as she shoots Astarion one last look before turning to face the fire, lowering herself to sit on the dirt in front of him as she crosses her legs and waits.

She moves her hair off one side, still in its messy plait from earlier, little tendrils escaping the braid like the smallest of leaves off a vine as he settles in behind her, the beat of her heart skipping ever so slightly at the sound of his knees crunching into the pebbled ground. Astarion’s presence looms behind her, the shift of his clothing too close in her ears as he makes to kneel.

She feels the lightest pressure of his hands on her shoulders, a sharp exhale of air escaping her lips as one of his hands skates its way up her neck to settle around her jaw, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger as he moves her head the tiniest bit to the side, baring more of her neck to his waiting lips.

His fingers are cold where they rest against the bare skin along the line of her face in a touch that could almost be considered delicate were it not for the pressure of his fingers, the hand holding her face just a shade too tightly for it to be anything resembling affection.

Astarion must be able to feel the rhythm of her heartbeat thrumming through her veins, the slightest bit of question skating through her body, though she does trust him not to kill her even if it’s against her best judgement. He’s every bit a predator as his grip tightens infinitesimally on her, no doubt able to see and smell the blood pulsing just underneath her skin.

“Relax, darling. We’ve done this before.” Rin can feel the words brush against her skin as he speaks, lips hovering just above her neck as he looks for a place to feed, the warmth of his breath and the chill of both his lips and hands sending tiny goosebumps down her limbs.

Rin feels the sharp points of his fangs mere seconds before they pierce her skin, sinking into her flesh easily as she winces against the brief flash of pain, her mouth opening in a quiet gasp. It’s the same as before, ice striking against the column of her throat that turns to a hazy warmth as her blood leaves her body only be captured by his eager mouth.

A small noise escapes her throat at the first suck, lips parting on the sound as Astarion’s own move against her neck. The cold pain contrasts against the heat inside her, every movement of his mouth as he drinks her in both wonderful and awful in equal measure.

Rin’s pulse thrums in time with his mouth as he drinks, the feeling of his plush lips against her neck intoxicating. The hand on her shoulder tightens, pulling her body closer to his own as he buries his head deeper into her neck. His silver curls are soft where they brush against her skin, the tips of the strands turning red as he drinks.

Blood drips down her back and chest, the thin rivulets of scarlet warm against the nighttime air that surrounds them. The tension in her limbs loosens with every drink taken of her essence, head swimming in the haze that begins to settle over her as the blood leaves her body.

The sensations of their bodies this close with his head at her neck, her blood rapidly draining into his mouth all send her mind reeling. Somewhere in the depths of her brain, she can feel her tadpole connecting with his own, a clouded bond forming between them, barely able to make out any coherent feeling or thought amidst a sea of exhilaration and hunger and a want of more working through his mind.

Distantly, Rin notices her reactions slowing to a point of alarm though she finds it hard to summon up a reason to care, not when the movement of his lips on her skin feels far too good despite the tiny bits of pain interspersed in the strange bliss of it.

But she does not want to die like this, not quite yet.

Drawing up her strength through slow and sleepy limbs, Rin finds the motivation to move her hand from where it rests to reach up instead, shaky fingers threading through the soft strands of Astarion’s hair against her neck.

“Enough.” A part of her rankles at the subdued sound of the word as it leaves her lips, the way it spills into the air like a lover’s sigh—soft and dreamy and sated.

Her voice falls on empty ears, though, Astarion still drinking greedily from her neck with what feels like no plans to stop as he relishes the deep scarlet spilling from her veins.

“I said enough, Astarion.” With one last effort to get his attention, the fingers threaded through his soft hair dig into and pull at the strands, her nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

It’s enough to make Astarion pause in his indulgence and come back to himself, a shiver working through his body at the sensation of her nails on his skin.

“Terribly sorry, darling. I got a little carried away, didn’t I?” Astarion gives a low groan as he sucks at the punctures, the air around them rife with the metallic scent of blood.

“Liar. You’re not sorry at all.” The feeling of his tongue on her neck sends a spike of heat straight to her pit of her stomach, her nipples brushing against the fabric of her tunic as she sucks in a breath.

“Takes one to know one, my dear,” Rin can feel his smirk against her neck, her little inhale not going unnoticed by Astarion as he gives another broad lick of his tongue. “Oh, you like this, don’t you?” He speaks without lifting his head from the skin of her neck, blood still leaking from the two small wounds there, his tongue absently collecting any stray droplets of blood that still fall.

Rin can hear an edge of arrogance as he speaks, the sound of it infuriating and grating despite her position in Astarion’s arms, body weightless as he supports her against him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words are weak, spoken as her back arches. Astarion’s tongue licks flat against her skin once more, drinking up another line of blood that makes its way down her neck and towards her collarbone.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, my dear.” Astarion places a small kiss against the marks, blood still leaking out of the wounds.

Rin summons another burst of strength, the hand in his hair slipping out of his curls to grasp instead at his slick wrist before pulling it away sharply from where he holds her chin in his hand, her fingertips coming away bloody.

Astarion lets her get away with it, the knowledge that he could overpower her with barely any effort not escaping her as she shakes his other hand off her shoulder.

Rin gets up hurriedly on unsteady feet, swaying as she stands and turns toward him, the heat emanating from the fire warm against her back as she looks down at him.

Astarion reclines back against the log, lazily licking at messy red lips, the dark cherry red of her blood glistening on his chin. His pupils are blown, chest heaving as hard as her own as their eyes meet, dazed emerald connecting with fervent crimson.

They mirror each other in this moment; both of their collars stained red, drops of her blood running down each of their necks. Astarion has a look of pure euphoria on his face, the newfound power running through his veins far beyond that of what she knows to be capable of the living.

“Don’t want to stay and play a little longer, sweet thing?” Astarion tilts his head to the side as he smiles wide, bringing a hand covered in blood up to his lips—the one that had been holding her face, she realizes—tongue peeking out to lick the digits clean.

“I’ll pass.” It’s a wonder Rin has any blood left to rush across her cheeks and down into her stomach, pink flush heating her skin as her head swims. There’s not nearly enough power behind her words as she takes one, two, three steps back from him, each one a near stumble.

“Suit yourself, little bard.” That infuriating grin stays in place as he watches her flee to the safety of her own tent, practically tripping over her own feet.

Rin doesn’t bother to say goodnight to him as she all but falls behind her striped tent flap and onto her bedroll. She wrangles with the bloodied tunic as it sticks to the blood coating her shoulder, pulling it up and over her head with a harsh yank, uncaring of the twinge of pain that emanates from her neck at the motion.

Finally free of it Rin buries her face into her hands, her attempts to take calming deep breaths failing as her chest heaves with the exertion.

For fuck’s sake.

Her cheeks warm with embarrassment at the heat that has pooled in her lower belly, resisting the urge to press her thighs together to grant herself some modicum of relief.

She settles instead for stripping off her pants and throwing them into a heap next to her as she lays down, pulling up the threadbare blanket and closing her eyes, hoping to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Rin doesn’t know if its mere minutes or hours that she lays there awake, mind spinning, before she falls into a fitful rest, twisting and turning in her bedroll under the darkened sky above as the forgotten blood on her neck dries to a dull red, flaking and crusting against her skin.

She sees him in her dreams against her every wish, her subconscious instead conjuring images of Astarion’s phantom hands and lips along her naked body, ghostly fingertips dragging lines across the expanse of her skin as he drinks from her neck.

When Rin wakes from the dream—or was it a nightmare?—it’s with a beating heart and flushed cheeks, a terrible realization dawning upon her, rising up like a wave as it washes away any remaining chance of sleep.

She is absolutely and unequivocally fucked.

#astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #my writing

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tulipanthousa · 3 months

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tell us about the unwritten au 👀

okay, full disclosure, this will never be written. i have no intention of ever doing so. if someone else is willing to take a crack at it be my guest but this would be too much for me to handle

so, here it is

Content Warnings: angst, RAPE (<- read this. the dove is dead. do not pass go do not collect $200. youve been warned) both directly and via proxy, and other kinds of sexual coercion

LAOFT RELAMP but at what cost

In main story laoft, durant does not see roman and remy's dalliances as important or a threat to him/his control over roman.

in this story. he does

in an agonizing display of cruelty, he kidnaps remy and presents him to night roman as a gift.

its a terrible position - roman cant reject the gift and risk durants anger, which will end in disaster for both him and remy... but niether can he accept it and walk back into his day life with the knowledge that remy will remain here, trapped, alone with durant, and impossibly far away from anything roman can do to protect him

Roman takes the only path he can find - feign gratefulness so deep that he no longer had need of his day left, and giving it up. because at least if theyre both trapped remy's not alone.

Remy and Roman disappear the same night, stolen from their beds without a sound or a trace left behind.

In wickhills, Logan is incandescent with fury and patton cries so miserably the woods and hills around his house are bone-dead silent. not even the birds want to sing in his presence.

May sits alone in her house, the door locked, refusing to answer for anyone.

The Adams' put up posters across all of southeast ohio knowing nobody is going to call

And emile watches them all and churns with guilt because he didnt know remy, not really, so why does he think he has a right to be this sad?

Back in faerieland, things escalate in a bad way very quickly. Durant coerces Roman and Remy into increasingly intense sexual scenarios for his entertainment.

in the midst of this, having only one other person you can rely on or trust can, coupled with the rapid increase in intimacy, cross the wires a bit, and wwhoops, Remy and roman are in love now

Remy: or whatever passes for love in this shitshow Roman: you dont get to tell me i dont really love you Remy, crying: ok

and tbh, all of this is more of just context for what im ACTUALLY interested which is

they get out. now what?

Because in the meantime, Emile has reached out to patton, we still have LAMP and remile, and now we have pair-of-cats-that-cant-be-separated creativisleep

Logan: you thought canon logan had anger issues? ha. ha i say. this logan would kill a man sooner than let them make roman or remy even slightly uncomfortable. he'll snarled at his own mother if she gets too close. he'll snarl at thomas, though he'll feel bad about both. this is actually! not great! because logan tried to guard from the outside looks a lot like Guards Keeping Us Inside to remy and roman, so they have to figure out how to navigate logans nuclear reactor protectiveness vs it wigging roman and remy out.

Virgil: Virgil waking up is the catalyst for them getting free, and in the midst of his horror falls in QP love at first sight with remy, who was so brave and so strong and kept roman safe when virgil couldnt.

Remy: i dont know if 'safe' is even slihtly accurate Virgil: the safety of his heart and mind are of equal importance to me as his body. you have cherished both, and you can have anything you ask for as long as i live Remy: [gay fluster noises]

Patton keeps determinedly dragging emile to mays house (where they are holed up for close access to dizzy and jax) even though Emile feels like he's intruding

Patton, constantly on the verge of tears: I almost lost Roman and i've decided im in love with all of you and i CATEGORICALLY refuse to lose anyone else Emile: um Patton: RE. FUSE.

so pattons HOPE is that they all wind up in a big polycule pile, and its doesnt... not do that, but its not quite as clearcut as all that.

Theres stumbling blocks at the beginning withboth remy and roman wavering on whether or not their romantic feelings are genuine, and subsequently wondering if the fact that theeyre still in love with Emile and LAM respectively means that they arent.

this would go through some oscillations of both of them trying to deny those feelings to "prove" their love for each other, vs trying to push the other away so they can go be with p[eople they "really love"

do! not! separate them!

in my head this ends with romantic LAMP, Romantic Remile, Romantic Patmile, and QPR losleep and sleepxiety - everybody else is friends and cuddle buddies

Remy is actually super comforted by the fact that Patton is in love with him/attracted to him but never asks for more than friendship because he knows remy isnt. Metamour besties.

Dizzy suffers a lot from this ordeal (she hid from durant and subsequently roman, knowing if he found her as romans familiar it would be catastrophic) so their bond is.... stretched, lets say. overtaxed. she's a little sicklier. a little smaller, a little more timid. hides in remy or virgils jackets frequently

All of which is to say that this is a fraught extended metaphor that sometimes trauma changes you, and it changes your relationships, and it changes the way you feel attraction, and all of that is okay. it doesnt make those feelings or relationships less real or loving or valid.

anyway this is my monster. im not going to write it (please dont ask) but some people have expressed that they were glad i still shared it, so have some bite sized angst

#ask #Anonymous #laoft ask #rape cw

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dddomenstarstwst · 2 years

Text

➜ lingerie pt.2

Prompt: lingerie they wear for you

Character: RYUSEITAI, ALKALOID, EDEN

Genre: suggestive, smut in Chiaki's and Tatsumi's parts

Warnings: lingerie, rimming (Chiaki), wall sex (Tatsumi), lap dance (Hiyori), size kink implication (Jun), sub!RYUSEITAI, sub!ALKALOID, sub!EDEN, dom!gn!reader

Word count: 512

➜ Chiaki Morisawa

↝ how did chiaki got himself in this situation? He didn't quite remember, but the way your tongue licked his rim had his fingers twitching. You didn't take off the lingerie, simply because he looked so adorable, so you pulled the bottom aside, which only turned both of you on more.

"Mm, t-thank you! Hah, your tongue– Gn, so deep!"

➜ Kanata Shinkai

↝ you catch kanata swimming in the river again, so you drag him out. You proceed to lecture him on how he could've drowned, but abruptly stop, when he pulled his shirt off, revealing what he was wearing underneath.

"Puka, am i "cute"? Hehe, thank you. It's"comfortable" to "swim" in."

➜ Mayoi Ayase

↝ you take in mayoi's body, as he nervously plays with a string on his panties. You come closer, one hand drawing circles on his hip bone, the other gently stoking one of his bat wings. Your boyfriend avoids your gaze, and you lean to kiss an open area on his chest, pulling a whimper out of him.

"U-uhm.. Oh? No, no, everything is fine! j-just, mm, be gentle, please."

➜ Tatsumi Kazehaya

↝ tatsumi falters when you slide your cock almost out of him, only to thrust back in harshly. Your little angel arches his back, his leg, bent in knee, was pressed to the wall you fucked him against. His purple eyes looked at you through his shoulder, tears running down his face.

"Ah, ah, ah! Wai– Oh! A-at least let me t-take off my pan-ties!"

➜ Nagisa Ran

↝ you suggested to nagisa for him to wear a lingerie set on one of eden's practices as a joke. But your boyfriend might have been too oblivious, so he agreed, not seeing anything wrong. But he soon comes back with a blushing face and furrowed brows.

"My love, I need your touch. No time to waste, let us move to the bedroom."

➜ Hiyori Tomoe

↝ you watch, captivated, as hiyori moves his body to a sensual melody he picked. A grin is formed on his face, eyes glistening in dim lights. He sits on your lap, grinding down, moaning erotically in your ear. He is full aware of what wonders he does to you, and he knows how to use his skills.

"Heh, looks like somebody got turned on by my little show! Would you like me to help you with that?"

➜ Ibara Saegusa

↝ when you come home from work, you find your boyfriend wearing a silk purple robe. You don't register it at first, going to your bedroom, probably too tired to even notice. But as the image settles in, you run to where ibara was, eyes wide and head full of questions.

"O-oh! Ah, this? It's– I've read somewhere that wearing silk is beneficial to one's skin!"

➜ Jun Sazanami

↝ jun's golden eyes burn a hole in your body, he scoffs when your hand caresses his revealed spine. Your hot breaths land on his neck, making him shiver. You tower over him, your body so large compared to his. He knew it before, but the way you both reflect in the mirror makes it more apparent.

"Stop undressing me with your eyes, and do it with your hands, damnit!"

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sirenjose · 5 months

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Your thoughts on the Identity Switch

Thanks to you…. I now really like Norton. I used to hate him because I have a vendetta against people taller than my 4’11 self but now I love him.

on another note, what are your thoughts on the Identity switch system? Looking more into Norton’s background specifically makes me wonder why Norton gets a hunter form. What does this represent? I know that there’s a lot of drugs involved but I always interpreted it as them unlocking a new personality or smth, one more attune to following the manor’s games and supervising it (hunter) and like the other just trying to leave (survivor). I’ve been so interested in Norton’s lore lately that now I’m in an existential rabbit hole in how survivors get hunter forms, why that is, and if it’s like some sort of curse or punishment. Why are these survivors getting hunter forms?

soooo many questions, IK. But like reading your theories and analysis at 3Am is my serotonin. As a new player purely interested in the game for its lore I am just excited to know more but can’t wrap my head around all these weird concepts cause, again, I’m new. Also if I spend the next hour reading more of your analysis I will not sleep so therefore I need to preface my curiosity with a timed endeavor. My question probably do3snt make sense but like uhhh yeaaaaa. You should totally make something on your thoughts on identity switch (especially for the survivors gone hunters) cause I am too far in deep into the Norton-Campbell-Fool’s-Gold-Alternate-personality rabbit hole.

I’ve never done the questioning thingy before so sorry if this is not how it works. G’day!

Ah, it makes me happy to think a nobody like me can turn your thinking around on someone. Especially Norton since he was 1 of the main reasons I got started with the lore at all. I'm someone who usually plays a game based on how interesting the story or characters are, so I was interested in learning about idv's lore soon after I joined (had to take quite awhile to figure out the basics of the game and what all the various buttons were, then take some more time to get used to it before I could even get started with the lore). Was the main reason why I went looking to join places like Discord or Reddit, just so I could find people talking about the story.

Started by just understanding what I could about what people said, but then I eventually moved on to trying to understand at least the basics of everyone's backstories (once again, took me awhile to do that ^_^; Especially as I joined before we were getting all that much story at all). While I was doin this, I heard a lot of people saying bad stuff about some character named Norton. Have to admit I didn't know who he was for quite awhile. Wasn't in my radar. Can't even say I cared much for him. But I eventually got to the point where I basically decided I wanted to see if I could determine if Norton really was that bad or not (maybe as a challenge to myself, maybe because I wanted to find out myself rather than just hearing other's opinions, or maybe because I failed to find anything really in-depth about him).

That analysis took a ridiculous amount of time. In part because I ask too many questions, because I'm a perfectionist and wanted to look at every bit of info on him and detail on him, but also somewhat because I ended up writing this like a persuasion piece, and felt the only way to do that was by going through everything to back up my conclusion (whatever my research turned up). Which was also why I analyzed every single essence he had a skin in, as well as any skins not in an essence, his accessories, emotes, etc... It was during that process I actually got attached to Norton. Probably because of how long I spent going through him (no one needs to know how long it took... only the immense joy and desire to collapse I had when I finally finished).

Since then, I've rewritten his analysis... 3 times now I think? Counting after hunter norton's release? Though I've taken down that 1st version due to issues, and haven't reposted my essence analyses as they're old (they were pretty much the 1st analyses I wrote, and I'd like to think I've improved since then) as well as because they're based on the 1st version of my norton analysis... and because they're probably a bit needlessly long and thus embarrassing... Maybe I'll repost them once I get around to rewriting them. I definitely will eventually at least for Soul Catcher's and Magic Item Keeper's essence because I have to say they took longer than almost any other part of that original (complete) norton analysis (i can never forget the trouble they caused me over how long it took to understand them).

ANYWAYS! Ignoring my stupid rambling because who cares about any of that.

I was going to include my answer to your question about Identity Switches but it’s starting to become a little silly in length ^_^; (seriously, for those who know me well enough, I have a bad habit of writing more than I initially intended to once I get started) so I’ll make that a separate post for you, and you can let me know if it answers your questions (once I post it). If not, feel free to ask any more of your questions.

Honestly, the lore is confusing even to those who aren’t new players, so don’t be too hard on yourself if you can’t wrap your head around a lot of this ^_^;

It’s hard for me to imagine my stuff is so good people are willing to read it, much less re-read it. Especially as I know people tend to prefer… shorter things, but I have tendency to be lengthy. I can’t help it though ;’) But thank you so much for the compliment.

And please, I’m still pretty new to Tumblr, so I’m still figuring all this out myself.

Anyways, don’t feel nervous talking to me or asking me any questions you have. I enjoy being helpful! So please, ask whatever you like. Or even if you don’t have a question, that’s ok too. I enjoy rambling about a subject I get started on, as long as the other person can bear with me ;’)

It’s always nice to know people besides me, myself, and I are reading this stuff.

(Apologies for any errors or nonsense in this post, as I decided to write it without double checking it for errors cuz I felt like being lazy, and I'm still busy writing out my thoughts about Identity Switches for you)

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a-libra-writes · 1 year

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здравствуйте, если не возражаете, то можно ридер кто дочь довольно влиятельного босса мафии, но из-за того, что отец скрытен и мало кто знает о том, кто его любимая дочь, многие стараются подобраться поближе к нему через свою читательницу дочь и поэтому отец нанял телохранителей для любимой дочери, но несмотря на это читательница не избалованная, а добрая душа (Lackadaisy ) ( Wes Clyde x reader )

(I had to google translate this asdkflslsj) Hello, if you don’t mind, then you can read who is the daughter of a rather influential mafia boss, but due to the fact that the father is secretive and few people know who his beloved daughter is, many try to get closer to him through their reader daughter and therefore the father hired bodyguards for his beloved daughter, but despite this, the reader is not spoiled, but a kind soul

Enjoy~ ofc, reader is femme in this.

Most of the Marigold gang knew who you were, though not by name. You were the girl who came into the Marigold Room to have a few drinks and listen to the musicians. Well dressed, well spoken ... and flanked by at least two bodyguards. That was the unusual part. They figured you were the daughter of a politican, maybe a rail baron ... surely, no one involved with crime. You just didn't "act" that way.

You and Wes met during one of these evenings. Maybe it was the drink that gave him courage to approach you. The guards weren't directly beside you, but he knew sometimes they'd hide around. It was strange, and made his hairs stand up, but you were clearly happy to be spoken to. Your ears twitched, your eyes lit up, and a sympathy grew in him. He figured people must not bother much.

There were short visits in the Marigold Room that later, somehow, ended up being visits outside the hotel, during the daytime. Small things, like a cafe or a walk around the park. Wes always clocked the guards when they tried to "disguise" themselves and hide. He quickly figures there's four that rotate shifts, and which ones he could probably take on if he needed to ...

... Not that he thinks you'll call them, but if they've got orders to keep certain no-good gangsters away from their charge ...

So he's on better behavior with this gal, at least, until he whispers if you wants to give the blockheads the slip. And you actually agree.

Wes figures out pretty quick you aren't a regular uptown girl, bodyguards aside. You don't seem bothered by drunken brawls that broke out, you didn't blink when he moved his gun to a different pocket, you said nothing about a bullet hole in the car. And I mean, he's not the most upstanding looking guy, and you were still carrying on with him.

(What Wes doesn't know is your father finds out immediately, and only tolerates it because you'll surely get bored or disappointed. He's always warned you away from men like this.)

Still, he keeps his business separate from his budding relationship with you. Best behavior and all that, for the most part. The previous romantic HC's I mentioned apply, though because you're obviously from money, Wes might feel some insecurity about impressing you. Or perhaps you don't take this relationship too seriously, because obviously you'll marry some fancy well-to-do moneybags cat. But wait, didn't he not want a serious commitment anyway ...? Poor guy gets a lot of conflicting thoughts.

Also, you really aren't his usual type of girl. You're quite sweet and almost not aware of your money. Sometimes you have trouble speaking up and he has to tell someone off for you. You mention how difficult it is to find real friends - the unspoken words being "let alone a relationship", which makes him feel funny. You're so interested in normal things like a duck pond or cotton candy at a fair or simple shops in the city that he wonders about your upbringing. Should you be hanging around a guy like him?

Sometimes, he gets a bad, nervous feeling. Maybe he's in too deep. He's tried asking his contacts, even his boss, what's up with your family. There's rumors, talk of "big time" gun running and smuggling. Serious operations, going all up and down the coast, not just in one city. A voice in his head is telling him to cut ties while he can. I know better than this. I know how the game plays.

But anytime he tells himself today is the today, he'll end it ... as soon as you two meet up and you take his arm and lean on him, excuses come up.

#im imagining this poor anon having to put my rambling shit through google translate aldksksk APOLOGIES #wes clyde x reader #lackadaisy x reader

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lorenzobane · 2 years

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Darling, I'm Intoxicated

(A/N: @wanderingwriter87 I don't know- this just came up and slapped me in the face and I blame you. On AO3 here)

Summary: Garak gets a bit too drunk.

“This is ridiculous.”

“No, it is not. You should be flattered that you were invited! I’m so happy you’re branching out more, making new friends–”

“Stop talking to me like I’m a child, Julian.”

Julian rolls his eyes. One of Garak’s colleagues at the local municipal building where he acts as County Notary (a job both serving the state but decidedly banal, which Julian knows Garak finds uniquely frustrating) has invited him to his Kosse ceremony. Julian understands the ceremony is quite similar to the Terran custom of bachelor parties, complete with strippers and copious alcohol.

Garak hadn’t had one.

Julian had certainly tried to persuade him; he had even said they could share a bachelor party if Garak were so hesitant to have his own (which had been met with a furious noise from Miles over subspace when he told him about it later). Garak remained firm in his refusal, and so Julian eventually gave in.

It isn’t that the party itself is so significant, Julian thinks. It is more what the party represents, namely- friends. Julian has always been good about joining sports teams and throwing himself into the deep end of social dynamics, social skills be damned, and on Cardassia, he has pretty good success. He is part of a tennis league that meets biweekly, formed of Federation aid workers and local Cardassians who had picked up the game, his coworkers at the hospital he sometimes got drinks with, and, of course, a standing subspace call with Miles.

Garak has, well, he has him. Julian loves Garak with his entire being. He adores him, wants nothing but joy and happiness from him, relishes talking to him, and could easily spend whole days just lost in him.

But. But that isn’t healthy, and it isn’t fair. Julian dated a Councilor long enough to know that, at least.

So, Julian says, “stop behaving like a child then.”

Garak gives him a look that could drill a hole for dilithium.

“Now, message me if you need a ride home. I won’t be going anywhere, so any time.”

“I think I am perfectly capable of finding my way home in the city I was raised in, Doctor.”

“And we are all very impressed,” Julian says soothingly. “Still, call. I’m off tomorrow, so it won’t be a bother.”

“Which is why I don’t understand why you can’t come with me.”

“Because I wasn’t invited,” Julian reminds him playfully. “Also, you can’t have a couple at your Bachelor Party! Ruines the energy of debauchery.”

“I will take your word for it.”

Julian starts steering him towards the door, pressing his comm into his hands. “Have fun!”

Garak opens his mouth to respond, so Julian cheerfully shuts the door on his face.

Julian looked around their small living room; he isn’t often alone and finds that he’s excited to have a night to himself. Maybe he can watch that new holodrama he’s been meaning to binge, but Garak hasn’t been interested.

He snuggles in and settles into finally being able to watch something without constant commentary.

Several hours later, Julian wakes up on the couch to a message notification. He blinks once, not remembering when he fell asleep in the first place, and then reads the message.

Elim Garak: Darling, I am intoxicated.

Julian chuckles softly under his breath.

Julian Bashir: Would you like me to pick you up?

Elim Garak: That would be most appreciated, my dear.

Julian looks at the time, and his eyes widen; it is late. Much later than Julian thought Garak would be willing to stay out and definitely later than Julian himself had stayed out since Jadzia’s parties on Deep Space Nine.

He shakes the cobwebs loose and heads for their hovercraft before checking Garak’s location on his PADD and chuckling.

A Glinn’s Pleasure, a Cardassian Strip Club. There was a term for it (ss’kishta) but for all purposes, it was a strip club.

Good for him, Julian thinks with a grin. Poor dear so rarely gets to see any scale. Julian has never been the jealous type, and he is perfectly aware that Garak does nothing quickly. He doesn’t eat quickly, doesn’t shower quickly, and doesn’t fuck quickly.

Julian can attest to that. It only took him ten years.

By the time he gets there, it seems only the Kosse ceremony group is left, with the younger men still vigorously hollering at the dancers. Julian scans the room for signs of his wayward husband when he sees him slumped over a chair in the back of the bar. He’s actually surprised that Garak allowed himself to get this intoxicated with strangers, but he’ll get the full story of how this happened later.

He walks over to him, ready to gingerly wake him when he looks at the image Garak fell asleep looking at. It was a picture from a vacation they went on two months ago; Julian was wearing a pink shirt that was barely buttoned, gesturing wildly with his hands in the warm Risian sun. His wedding band caught in the light.

Julian softens even more and gently presses a hand on Garak’s shoulder. “Elim, are you ready to go?”

“Julian?”

“Yes, are you ready to go home?”

“Yes,” Garak responds, almost desperately swaying into his arms.

Julian chuckles, “Okay, okay, I’ve got you.”

He maneuvers them out of the bar taking great pains to keep his partner as upright as possible. Julian passes a brief wave to the boys, who are still partying, as he lugs his husband to the hovercraft.

As soon as he helps him sit, Garak falls asleep. Julian presses a fond kiss to Garak’s temple and then drives them both home.

Once he manages to get Garak up to their room, and in their bed, he walks back to the living room and orders a hangover cure from the replicator. It works best if applied before sleep to prevent hangover symptoms in the morning rather than curing them once they have already appeared.

There is a quiet hiss of the hypospray unloading into Garak’s neck, who doesn’t even twitch. A flash of alarm rings through him- Garak is always alert.

Taking a half step back, watching that Garak is still breathing steadily, he reaches for his tricorder, heart racing.

Julian sighs and shakes his head at himself, nothing. He’s perfectly fine, save for the dehydration from the alcohol. Exasperated with himself, the war was years ago; he lays down too.

Julian wakes up before Garak does, which is unsurprising but still sends him to his tricorder for one more quick scan before he officially calls himself paranoid.

Garak eventually wakes up, wandering into the living room in his traditional robe and perfect posture. Even his hair is neatly plaited.

“Good morning, love,” Julian says with a smile.

Garak inclines his head at him, oddly polite, but Julian ignores it.

“So,” Julian starts, “how was last night?”

“A tawdry affair,” Garak begins, sighing dramatically. “A bunch of headstrong, foolish young men. The state only knows why they even wanted an old timer like me along.”

“Of course,” Julian says, his lips curling around a tea cup's rim. “Though I’m sure you still gave them a run for their money,”

“Oh,” Garak chucked, “I tried to keep up. Though, it has been some time since I have consumed in such excess. I must say, I find myself… surprised by the lack of consequences.”

Julian gave him a questioning look. “I gave you a hangover treatment last night, of course. It is always better to prevent the problem than to treat it.”

Garak looks at him, seeming almost surprised for half a second before he nods. “Of course. I never doubt your medical expertise. I just presumed that perhaps you’d be more… Upset.”

“Upset? About what?”

“Well, that I allowed such an overindulgence. You do so often harp on me about the importance of moderation.”

“Because it is important, but Garak, going out with your friends every once in a while and having a bit too much isn’t something you need to be punished for. I’m certainly not upset.”

“Nor about the rather… lewd displays at the venue where you found me?”

Julian rolls his eyes and goes over to him, pressing a firm kiss on his cheek. “Elim, love, I knew that. Remember? Now, did you have fun?”

Garak looks conflicted before he smiles, “Well, it has been some time since I’ve seen another Cardassian’s chuva. So, that was refreshing, though surprisingly uninspiring. I suppose I simply have different tastes now.”

Julian laughs, nuzzling his face into Garak’s neck. He can read between the lines.

#my writing #st: ds9 #garashir #julian bashir #elim garak #god... idk man #when the lizard is a sap #which is apparently i all i write these days #chuva=the groin spoon on Cardassians #terminology taken of course from tinsnip

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 7 months

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Thank you so much for opening up matchups, I always love seeing my results! As for myself, I’m an asexual girl who’s somewhere on the aromantic spectrum. I adore history, reading, tea, writing, ice skating, art and sewing!

I’m pretty introverted and can get quickly drained being in large social groups or gatherings so I tend to prefer small hangouts or just time spent with one individual. When I really click with a person though I don’t find myself drained and can get pretty touchy and talkative! I have ocd, some past trauma and anxiety issues so if I did have a partner I would hope that they would be open to those parts of me and willing to be there for me when dealing with anything related to that. (And if they had that I’d do anything to help them work through it or just to help them feel comfortable and safe!)

I’m pretty easy going and relaxed for the most part although I am told I can be a bit blunt and that it looks like I’m always glaring (I’m not). I’m pretty upfront in setting boundaries and letting people know what I am comfortable with or not. While I do enjoy easygoing and light conversations, I also appreciate deep and intellectually stimulating discussions (or even just taking the piss out of someone).

Honestly as long as someone is open to engaging with my interests, is there for me both physically (not sex) and emotionally, and accepts me, then I’d be content! I’d be happy with that person no matter what (aka gender and orientation aren’t factors in whether I would like someone or not) although I would hope they are a more clean and tidy person or at least can learn to be one.

A/N: For you @amefuyuu, I’m thinking your best Baldur’s Gate 3 match would be Gale!

☸ Gale is the right person for you! There’s been some discussion of the lack of ace representation in Baldur’s Gate, however, I read a very interesting Twitter thread that suggested that the characters of Gale and Asatrion could be interpreted as asexual if you squint. Astarion because he’s endured so much trauma, and in Gale’s case because his character makes a point to be clear that what he wants isn’t “just sex”, and that love and romance for him is something much deeper, much more spiritual than anything we could understand in just the physical realm. I’m not sure Larian would label Gale as asexual outright; instead, I believe it’s meant to be up for your interpretation. In this case, I see Gale as greysexual/demisexual. For him, sex is only wanted or a positive thing if he's developed a true romantic connection first. That being said, I think he’d also truly value a mostly aromantic companion, as long as your relationship is based on mutual respect/admiration and communication. He’s been holed up in that tower of his in Waterdeep for so long, so alone. He needs a companion he can't open up to. A companion he can enjoy quiet studying with. Someone who won't judge him too harshly for the mistakes of his past; someone who can see past his shortcomings into the kind of man he could be. And in return, I’d imagine he’d do the same.

Gale loves history! He’s a bit of a history buff himself. Sure, most of it pertains to the history of magic or The Weave, but he’s also quite knowledgeable about the history of Waterdeep. He’d love exchanging knowledge with you- you tell him what you know of your world and he’ll tell you what he knows of his. And reading, oh my goodness! The man practically has his own private library back home with hundreds of tomes dedicated to all sorts of subjects. And although he may initially be hesitant to admit it, he has an entire section dedicated to nonfiction.

Gale would love nothing more than to spend a beautiful sunny afternoon with you outside his home in Waterdeep, picnicking and having tea while you each sit in each other’s company, reading your respective favorite books. When the weather turns colder, he’d love to go ice skating with you. Well, he’d like to watch you ice skate, while he keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground beyond the rink. He’s not the smoothest of people. But that doesn’t mean he won’t go above and beyond to make it happen for you! Even conjuring an ice rink himself with a spell if he has to. If it really makes you that happy, then it’s worth it to him.

Gale may not be the finest connoisseur of art, but he does enjoy showing off the things you create. And he’s very happy someone between the two of you knows how to sew. It’s also so bothersome to rip a hole in your clothes after an adventure or battle and need to go all the way to a tailor to get them fixed.

Gale prefers smaller crowds as well. And he comes with his fair share of trauma- being raised by a single mother, his fallout from his unbalanced relationship with Mystra, to being infected with a Mind-Flayer parasite. He can be rather anxious himself, which is why he tends to talk in circles sometimes. He’s not always trying to be elusive, it’s just that it can be hard openly admitting your feelings when you don't know if the audience is right. He won’t ever judge you for the things you deal with, be it your anxiety or OCD. He knows he has his fair share of quirks and absolute ‘no-nos’ that most partners would find a bit annoying. He’s extremely grateful for how patient you are with him. He understands, even more so with you by his side, that healthy relationships are give and take across the board. Everyone has their moments. Everyone takes their turn. And that’s alright. It just means you’re human. (Or you know, whatever humanoid Faerun creature you happen to be!)

Typically easygoing himself, Gale is happy you’re not overly boisterous like Karlach. He too prefers more stimulating conversations. (He also secretly enjoys ribbing those he’s closer to, and he’s a fairly big fan of puns. But it might take a while for him to reveal those little fun facts to you.)

And while his workspace might be a bit messy, he’s more tidy than not. Granted, things may get strewn about here and there after a night of spell research, but he makes a point to eventually put things back where they came from. He learned this the hard way when he left a book out on his bed only to come back to it to find Tera sleeping soundly on its open pages. He was forced to wait for hours to finish his spell! All because he didn’t want to wake her by retrieving the book. (He has since done what he can to ‘tressym proof’ his home lol.)

Honestly, Gale doesn’t mind not having sex. He’s used to it. He just really misses the other kinds of physical affection: hugs, pats on the back or shoulder. Touch can be so healing and grounding, but it’s hard to get any of that when you isolate yourself in a tower for years. He’s very pleased you care enough about him to give him that much.

He thinks himself so blessed to have you in his life.

#baldurs gate imagine #baldurs gate x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 imagine #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate matchups #bg3 matchups #bg3 #matchups

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