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#''it's about how he just wants to be free like the horses''
crazyyluvr · 2 days
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heyy I've heard your requests are open! Could you do like a Jason Grace x gf reader where the reader has severe anger issues, but since Jason is rlly calm he is the only one who can handle her, and calm her down? I'm such a sucker for sunshine bf! X grumpy gf! trope haha
pairing: jason grace x gf!ares!reader
summary: in which you're very tempted to murder Hazel's magic (magically annoying) horse, but Jason's there to prevent that from happening.
no particular place in the heroes of the olympus timeline, but they're on Argo II.
wc: 1.2k
warning/s: cursing, jason may be ooc, she/her pronouns, anger issues, jason's nickname for reader is pompeii because volcano n stuff
note: thank you for your request anon <33 i hope this lives up to your expectations. enjoy!
short oneshot under the cut :: not edited
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The Argo II became more of a home to the eight demigods during their months of travel. Even though the ship would most probably get destroyed beyond even Leo's repair by the time they finished their quest of destroying Gaea, that didn't stop them from finding comfort within the Celestial bronze walls.
During that morning, most of the demigods were in the dining room, enjoying their breakfast. They were all tired and sluggish, since the night before wasn't kind to them. Usually they would take shifts when it came to guarding the ship, but everyone was awake last night due to the mini army of winged terrors that came across the flying ship, which caused them to set down on the sea near the land.
They all slept for less than four hours, and they all wanted nothing more but to add to those hours of sleep.
"GODDAMN THIS STUPID HORSE!"
Well, most of them slept. It seemed that one of them didn't find sleep as luxurious as the rest did that night.
"How does she have this much energy? It's like, seven in the morning," Percy groaned, almost faceplanting into his blue pancakes if it weren't for Annabeth's quick reflexes to hold her boyfriend's head up.
"I SWEAR TO MY DAD'S ROMAN COUNTERPART I WILL TEAR YOU TO TINY LITTLE PIECES YOU HUNK OF SHIT!"
"She's a daughter of Ares alright," Frank chuckled tiredly, rubbing his eyes. "Only she can be heard this clearly when she's all the way on the other side of the ship."
"What horse is she talking about? I thought the stables were empty," Piper wondered, not bothering to tame her typhoon hair as she sipped her orange juice.
"THAT'S MY SHIRT YOU DUMBASS — ARION THE FUCKING HAY IS RIGHT THERE — STOP CHEWING MY DAMN SHIRT!"
It seemed that Arion decided to pay them a little visit now that they were set on a monster-free dock. That would explain Hazel's absence from the table, and how she reappeared in the doorway. She turned to Jason, who was trying to shovel as much food into his mouth as he could so he can go to the stables.
"She's gonna explode again," Hazel panted, putting a hand on her knee to support herself. "I tried getting her to breathe, like you normally do, Jason, but she's not listening. She might actually go through with killing Arion this time."
Jason swallowed, wiping his mouth as he stood up. "I'll go handle it. You," he pointed to Hazel, "eat."
Leo looked up from his rubber band helicopter to stare at his best friend. "Good luck, buddy. She hasn't bit off your head yet, but that could happen any day now."
Jason chuckled. "Thanks, Leo, but I'll be fine." He left the room.
More cursing and shouts that sounded dangerously close to war cries made Jason quicken his pace as he crossed the deck to go down into the stables, where he could see flickering shadows of a girl and a horse.
"If you bite at my shirt again, I'll shove a grenade down your throat and use your insides as monster bait."
Jason stopped walking, to see if you could actually control yourself this time.
Chomp.
"THAT'S IT, I'M GETTING MY GRENADES —"
You're thundering footsteps grew louder as you approached the doorway to leave the stables. Jason stepped forward just as you were about to exit the room, putting a placating hand on your shoulder. "Woah woah, slow down there Pompeii. No need to resort to violence so quickly, hmm?"
Strands of hay were poking out from your hair — which wasn't as messy as Piper's but it was well on its way there. There were dark circles under your angry eyes, indicating that you didn't sleep a wink that night. Your knuckles were white from how hard you were balling your fists, and heavy breaths escaped your lips. Jason swore that he could see a little bit of smoke coming out of your ears.
"That goddamn horse is gonna die," you seethed, your chest rising and falling from your angry inhales and exhales. "Step out of the way, Grace."
Jason shook his head, a calming smile on his lips as he moved his hands to your hair, picking out the hay before resting on your flaming cheeks, flushed with annoyance. "Breathe with me."
"I gotta give that stupid piece of shit what it deserves —"
"I know, I know, but you gotta breathe with me first, okay?"
"But —"
"Breathe. In..." He took a deep breath in, sending you a pointed look when you didn't follow. His scolding glance made you mutter some colorful words under your breath before following along with him.
"Out..."
You exhaled with him. You could feel your anger boil down, and Jason saw and felt your shoulders let out the tension in it.
"In..." you closed your eyes.
"Out..."
You opened them once you sensed that Jason was done. "How are you feeling?" He asked you.
"Better. Still a little annoyed, but I'm better."
"Remember what we said?"
You glared a little at Jason, before sighing and looking away. "I shouldn't act on my anger unless necessary."
"And was it necessary now?"
"No..."
Jason's smile grew, putting his palm under your chin to make you look at him so he could give you a small peck on your lips. "You look like you haven't slept. How about you rest in your cabin for the day, let the rest of us handle the monsters and the bird crap on the deck?"
You shrugged, acting like you didn't really care, an act that didn't convince Jason, judging from the way you leaned into his touch. "Sure, whatever. As long as someone else makes sure that damned horse is gone by the time I'm awake." You casted a heated glare at Arion behind you. The horse simply snorted, bending down to eat the hay that you were trying to get him to eat instead of your shirt moments before.
Jason nodded, his blonde hair swaying slightly with the movement. "Deal. Let's get some food in your system before you head to bed, okay?"
"Fine."
You let Jason lead you out of the stables and into the dining room, where everyone was.
The silence that followed your arrival was awkward and tense, like they were still waiting for some aftershock of your anger.
They finally breathed when you and Jason squeezed into a chair and Jason gave you food that you ate in silence, a pensive expression on your face as your eyes were focused only on the food in front of you, paying no mind to the stares of your fellow demigods."
"How do you do it?" Leo sighed, launching his helicopter, which flew out of the room. "Even back at camp, not even her siblings could contain her. That takes skill, man."
Your half sister Clarisse, despite being known for her issues with controlling her anger, could hardly restrain you when someone decided to tick you off.
Jason shrugged, staring lovingly at you, his girlfriend, cheeks slightly puffed from the food you were chewing. "I don't know man. I just do it."
But deep down, Jason knew the truth. You would never calm down unless you let yourself be calmed down by someone you completely trusted.
Being able to make you see through your anger was not a skill Jason had, it was simply the one of the perks of being your boyfriend, and the one person you trusted more than yourself.
And Jason would rather jump into Tartarus than let anyone else have the privilege that you entrusted to him.
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ellilyre · 2 days
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I finished ToA not long ago and I wanted to write down some thoughts/scenes that stick with me
(in chronological (ish) order, watch out for spoilers)
Theres an italian girl at camp ! It means Nico gets to practice and speak italian ! (which probably haven't happened in about 70 years)
Will introducing Nico as "my boyfriend". I already knew they would be canon, but reading that line felt weird /pos
Apollo sees Solangelo and think of himself and Hyacinth
That night when Kayla and Austin disappeared and Apollo left to look for them, it probably was the first night Will ever spent alone in his cabin
Apollo's insane body dysmorphia. He's a god, he can always take the physical form he is the most comfortable and confident in... Until now. He is stuck in a body that isn't his, he feels ashamed, when he sees certain traits in others he find them charming or pretty, but when it's on him then it's disgusting. He complain that everything is this body's fault (ex. he wouldn't have been touched by the Eurynomos if it wasn't for his chub.)(I could go on for hours)
Lityerses ! I love that guy. Idk why i love him that much. He is my best guy.
Apollo's reaction to Commodus' name. His flashback of him. So painful he was physically sick.
Apollo talking Helios out of killing them, because he just want to be free, not to hurt them.
APOLLO ATTEMPT TO KHS TO STOP THEM ?? IM A SUCKER FOR SOME GOOD PAINFUL SELF SACRIFICE.
Jason. I'm not talking about Jason. I can't speak about Jason.
Frank and Apollo ! They are so fond of each other !!!
Apollo heard all of Frank's prayers when he was unclaimed and wished he could've adopted him.
And Frank respecting Apollo as a god although he is *vaguely gesture at Apollo/Lester*
Reyna saying aloud that she doesn't want nor needs romance. It's so rare to see aromantic representation and Rick did it so well.
Literally Apollo singing his way out of situations.
FRANK'S SELF SACRIFICE!!! (He already had one of my favorite character development before that)
APOLLO KILLING COMMODUS ??? why do never talk about that it's one of the best deaths I've ever seen that was BADASS AND FULL OF EMOTIONS.
Apollo slowly dying out of poison and the Dodona Arrow doing everything it can to keep him conscious.
I hope Dakota didn't get killed off just to give Lavinia the role of Centurion. I love my boy Dakota, and his death felt kind of meaningless, except for her rank up :/ also i feel like it doesn't suit Lavinia. Some ppl are strong and good and trustable but just not made to order others. (ill prop make a full post about that)
Dionysos confirmed to be an annoying little brother!
Nico. How does Rick manage to always give him more issues. Leave the kid alone.
When Will glows, Apollo is genuinely impressed and tells him how proud he is.
Nico destroying Nero's door with his giant zombie bull. That was cool.
When Apollo gets stabbed in Nero's tower and think it's the end, he prays "Zeus, Artemis, Leto, anyone"
And in general the few parts he talks about Leto, he's such a momma's boy and I love it.
When Apollo left for Delphi... I was fully expecting Meg to go with him. I was so worried that he went alone while already feeling that weakened from the previous events.
DODONA ARROW. FOREVER IN MY HEART.
Artemis is here when Apollo wakes up. She's by his side, she's the first person to tell him he succeeded, she hold him while he sobs...
The first thing he does is to greet his horses :) and then to see his friends.
When he gets back to the Dodona bush ! To tell them all how brave and heroic the Arrow have been !
I could spend hours talking about the character developments of Apollo, Meg and the Dodona Arrow (i love the arrow so much you have no idea) but its for another day
There's many things I didn't talk about, but the post is already long enough. I love those 5 books, and Apollo is an amazing narrator.
I love the Arrow of Dodona with all my heart.
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comfortless · 3 days
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SYL remember the Ren fair blippet you posted of Konig and his dear??
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRTyaTXk/
This totally gave me flashbacks to it!! he probably completely forgets he's a human from the modern world when he puts his costume on and drags his partner into the festival, he just wants to be a knight in ye olden days with his love
oh my god Jane that is so cute ;;!!! heart is melting… we all deserve a dance with renfaire König…
The difference between König in and out of uniform is barely there, he’s still the same, albeit a bit more focused on the field; the difference between König in and out of costume though…?
It’s as if the single sip of ale he had at the beginning of the faire already had him drunk.
You had meticulously tightened each strap of his armor, cloaked him in the chainmail veil he wore just so, and spent more time than you would have liked preparing him rather than yourself.
He wanted to seat you in his lap whilst he polished the blunt sword, running his gloved fingers over the tip and making a quip about how he should sharpen it whilst your laces remained untied and your makeup was barely in place.
All of that preparation seemed for naught because König becomes someone else the moment you arrive.
He’s obnoxiously cocksure and giddy.
It’s as if some long forgotten knight has him possessed with the way he taunts the smaller men practicing the blade or throwing axes at shoddily painted targets. He has to beat them at every turn, making an entire spectacle of himself with a wild grin affixed upon his face.
There are rules to this: you try to remind him to be gentle, he doesn’t actually have to kill anyone here. Your warnings are met with feverish kisses and too handsy touches along your waist, up further until you detach from him with a laugh. Really, your soldier has become little more than an excitable hound.
You watch from the wooden fence as he readies for a joust. How they managed to find a horse that could seat him properly is beyond you, and from the looks upon their faces the men tending the stables are just as surprised.
The lance König wields looks almost puny in his large hand, and his opponent is more than a little shaken once presented with this giant on horseback. The other man ushers his horse to veer to the right once the joust begins, bypassing König entirely all to dramatically forfeit.
The men locked in duels are no better; no one wants this titan tackling them into the dust with a blade in hand. Everyone had already seen how König managed to bring a man to tears. It’s not much of a surprise that he’s proud of that. Look at how strong he is, princess! Aren’t you honored to have a man like that at your side?
Half of the budget he’s set for the faire is spent on food and ale. He wants you to try everything, hand feed him with a cute pout and that same annoyed yet adoring glare you’ve been shooting him all day. König had no qualms keeping you in his lap during the lavish feast, either. He strokes at your waist where the corset he helped you to fasten has been giving your side some grief after all this walking, plays with your hair until he reaches the nape of your neck and pulls you in to taste sugar on your tongue.
Maybe it’s a bit humiliating to play the role of this rowdy king’s beloved concubine, but it’s difficult not to feel contented when he’s so happy and free.
Not once does work come up.
The only weapons he toys with here are all for pretend. You know him well enough to detect when his team or a particularly gory mission are in mind, and with that rabid grin ever-present on his face it’s difficult to tell the difference, but… his eyes are more vibrant here. There is no tension in his shoulders when you pet him for missing a target with an arrow. The man who hates crowds seems to have been tucked away entirely, replaced by this König that eagerly initiates a duel and debates the time period certain weaponry was in use with a merchant.
He compares you to a fairy or a nymph when you lead him into the open field to dance, blades of grass so high you feel them tickle beneath your gown. His movement isn’t clumsy, though it’s near feverish as he tugs you close to sway, releases you to circle you like a starved wolf just to grasp at any part of your being within reach again.
He hasn’t a clue how to dance, but your hand remains joined with his the entire time, giving him just as much praise as he gives to you. Handsome when he mutters onward about your beauty, strong when he compares you to nimble forest creatures, lovely when he grasps at your hip to loom over you and press lengthy kisses against your exposed shoulder.
The dancing doesn’t end when others disperse either, when night takes the sky, when owls call, and the strumming of a lute plays on in the distance accompanied by shouts and laughter. There are still other events, someplace across the field… just ones the pair of you would not be in attendance for.
Away from envious eyes or drunken bards, König pulls you down to the grass to crowd over you, leaving a series of kisses from face to cleavage. He laughs against your breasts when you comment on how much fun he’s having. Your gown is lifted to fold carelessly above your hips; he mutters into your ear about showing you just how much before his face is pushed between your thighs.
He apologizes against your sex for dragging you out here, for embarrassing you by making that little knight cry, for being so uninhibited and himself that you force yourself to pull away from the sloppy licks altogether.
Your hands find his jaw and you cup his face as you tell him with sheer delight painted within your expression just how much you love seeing him like this. The little knight and all of the other people here are long forgotten in your mind at least, because all that matters is that crooked grin he flashes before helping himself to the millionth pleasure he’s had that day.
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whitepain · 3 months
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we should talk about these (unused?) john voice lines and the implications of them more
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9260remade · 10 months
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As a rape survivor, I understand the need for safe space together – free from sexist harassment and potential violence. But fear of gender variance also can't be allowed to deceptively cloak itself as a women's safety issue. I can't think of a better example than my own, and my butch friends', first-hand experiences in public women's toilets. Of course women need to feel safe in a public restroom; that's a serious issue. So when a man walks in, women immediately examine the situation to see if the man looks flustered and embarrassed, or if he seems threatening; they draw on the skills they learned as young girls in this society to read body language for safety or danger.
Now, what happens when butches walk into the women's bathroom? Women nudge each other with elbows, or roll their eyes, and say mockingly, "Do you know which bathroom you're in?" Thats not how women behave when they really believe there's a man in the bathroom. This scenario is not about women's safety – its an example of gender-phobia.
And ask yourself, if you were in the women's bathroom, and there were two teenage drag queens putting on lipstick in front of the mirror, would you be in danger? If you called security or the cops, or forced those drag queens to use the men's room, would they be safe?
If the segregation of bathrooms is really about more than just genitals, then maybe the signs ought to read "Men" and "Sexually and Gender Oppressed," because we all need a safe place to go to the bathroom. Or even better, let's fight for clean individual bathrooms with signs on the doors that read "Restroom."
And defending the inclusion of transsexual sisters in women's space does not threaten the safety of any woman. The AIDS movement, for example, battled against the right-wing characterization of gay men as a "high-risk group." We won an understanding that there is no high-risk group – there are high-risk behaviors. Therefore, creating safety in women's space means we have to define unsafe behavior – like racist behavior by white women towards women of color, or dangerous insensitivity to disabilities.
Transsexual sisters are not a Trojan horse trying to infiltrate women's space. There have always been transsexual women helping to build the women's movement – they are part of virtually every large gathering of women. They want to be welcomed into women's space for the same reason every woman does – to feel safe.
Leslie Feinberg, Transgender Warriors: Making History from Joan of Arc to Marsha P. Johnson and Beyond
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forzalando · 2 months
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Orange Theory
Charles Leclerc x best friend!reader (female reader)
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summary: charles and his best friend do countless nice things for each other, but they're just behaving like any good friend would. right? wc: 2.5k author's note: ok guys so this is not the Charles fic i promised (she is still a WIP and i will finish her eventually. probably will have to be a multi-part fic with how long it's getting), but i hope you enjoy this one in the meantime! special thanks to @scuderiahoney for encouragement and inspiration. special thanks to @sof1shticated for reading and assuring me this doesn't suck. if you haven't read their fics, both Lee and Mel have some gems that i adore. HIGHLY recommend checking out their masterlists! warnings: none!
You loved summer break – Charles was home for at least a few weeks, days spent on a yacht, every afternoon and evening spent with friends either at dinner or out at some club until someone got too drunk to carry on.
Today was, in your humble opinion, the perfect day. All of your friends, courtesy of Charles, were sprawled out on the sun deck of a rented boat or splashing around in the water below. You could feel the heat radiating off of Lando as he laid next to you and whispered about how McLaren was making insane upgrades – according to him, they might just have a race-winning car in the second half of the season.
“Are you boring my best friend to tears, Norris?” The brutal sun disappeared behind Charles’ body as he stood above you – as if on instinct, he shifted slightly so that you could look up at him and not be blinded by its rays.
“She’s hanging on my every word, right, Y/N? In fact, she asked me how I’m feeling about Zandvoort and the rest of the season.”
“And?” Charles asked, a small smile on his face.
“Like I would tell you what’s going on with the car! I know Y/N can keep a secret, she would never betray me to a prancing horse. She bleeds papaya.”
You laughed along with Lando – the one point of contention that had always existed in your friendship with Charles. Of course, you became a Ferrari fan because of him, but you’d always been a McLaren and Mercedes loyalist. It was something that Lando, Oscar, and George relished in.
“Alright, alright, no need to rub it in, Norris,” you giggled. “What can I do for you, Charlie?”
“I just came to give you this.”
Within seconds, a perfectly peeled orange dropped in your lap. Lando’s eyes grew wide for a moment but a swift glare from Charles had his face back to normal in no time. You missed the interaction, jumping up from your seat in excitement.
“Aw, Charlie! You are the best friend a girl could ask for,” you chirped as you started separating the wedges of fruit.
“Ah, don’t mention it,” he sighed, waving his citrus-scented hand in the air. “There’s more in the cooler if you want! Freshly peeled!”
“Thank you, mon cher ami.” You quickly kissed his cheek, noticing as you pulled away just how red it was, along with his neck and the tips of his ears. “Charles! How many times do I have to tell you to put on sunscreen? Your face and neck are fried!”
“I don’t think it’s from the sun,” Lando mumbled, his eyes trained on the fruit in your hands. With Charles insisting he was fine, you could barely hear what he had said.
“What did you say, Lan?” You asked, turning your attention away from Charles for a moment.
Once again, Lando was met with a menacing glare and he laughed awkwardly before moving his gaze to the horizon.
“Nothing, nothing, Y/N. Just thinking out loud.”
Shrugging your shoulders, you turned back to Charles and handed him the orange he had just given to you. With your now free hands, you rifled through your beach bag until you found the SPF 50 face cream you had packed that morning with Charles in mind.
“Here, I packed this for you. Please put some on so I don’t have to worry about you getting sun poisoning,” you pleaded with your best puppy dog eyes.
Charles stared without answering for far too long – anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask him and he’d do it. Even without you gazing at him with your wide, siren eyes, he would give you the world if you so desired it.
He shook his head slightly, pulling himself out of the daze caused by your pleading eyes. “Oui, ma fleur, I will put on the sun cream. Je promets.”
You smiled in triumph, taking the orange back from Charles and bidding him a “see you later” before laying back down in your lounger. Popping an orange slice into your mouth, you let out a contented sigh. Somehow, whether Charles was magic or he had some serious connections in the produce world, the fruit he picked out and gave to you always tasted better than anything you bought yourself.
“He peels your oranges for you?”
You hummed and turned to Lando – “what, Lan?”
“Does Charles always peel your oranges for you?”
“Well, no, obviously not always. Why?”
Before Lando could answer, Lily plopped down next to you and stole an orange slice from your hand.
“I swear,” she huffed, “Alex and George are competitive to begin with, but when they get together, it’s unbearable. They’ve been having a “who can hold their breath the longest” contest for the past thirty minutes! Rematch after rematch after rematch, I called in my favor with Oscar to get out of judging their little competition.”
“As if either of them could beat me, they probably didn’t ask me to join because they’re scared,” Lando bragged. “I’ll leave you ladies to chat, go show them how it’s done.”
As Lando walked towards the edge of the boat, you and Lily turned towards one another.
“Men,” you scoffed in unison, following it up with belly laughs and lingering giggles.
As the laughter died down, Lily ate the orange slice she had stolen from you and practically moaned in delight. “Where did you get this orange? It might be the best I’ve ever had!”
“It’s from Charles! I was just thinking about this, I don’t know how he does it but he always has the best fruit. Every time he brings me any I am both ecstatic and pissed off – my fruit is never as good as his and we shop at the same grocery store!”
“Well, does he have any more oranges? I could eat 20 of these.”
“He said he left me more in his cooler, let me grab them.”
A few moments later, you walked back to Lily with a bag of peeled oranges in your right hand and two bottles of water in your left.
“Are you a professional orange peeler? You were only gone for two minutes.”
“Oh no,” you giggled, “Charles peeled them for me. He knows I don’t like peeling them so when he can, he always does it for me.”
“Y/N,” Lily looked at you suspiciously, “do you know what the orange peel theory is?”
You wracked your brain but came up empty. “No, what is it?”
Lily went into a brief explanation – something about how it became a viral tik tok challenge, people asking their partners if they would peel an orange for them and how it was an indicator of true love, soulmates, a healthy relationship, and everything in between. “Well, that’s just silly,” you mumbled through chews, orange juice dribbling down your chin. “I think it just means someone is a good person – Charlie and I aren’t anything more than friends and he peels my oranges, among other things, because he has a good heart.”
“Among other things?” Lily pressed you, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place.
“He slices my apples because I have never been able to master the apple corer contraption! And he takes all my grapes off the stems when he’s at my place because I never do – it’s too tedious.”
“What else?”
“Oh, when we go out to breakfast, he always brings me a tea when he picks me up. He’s an early riser and I take forever to get ready. He knows I never have time to make it myself when we have plans before 10am.”
Lily was smirking at you, no, smiling at you. It was a little unnerving, the way she was entirely amused at the information you were giving her. However, the moment was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Alex.
“What are we talking about, ladies?” He spoke cheerfully, a broad smile on his face which meant that he was most likely declared the best breath holder of the 2019 rookies.
“Y/N was just telling me about all the sweet things Charles does for her,” Lily gushed.
“Oh god, when is he not doing things for her? Did you see him buttering her bread for her at dinner last week?”
Lily burst out laughing while you playfully punched Alex’s arm. “I’m indecisive! He butters it for me while I read the menu since it takes me so long to figure out what I want to order. It saves time!”
“He does that on a regular basis?” Alex asked incredulously, looking at Lily with wide eyes. “My god, that man is head over heels.”
“Alex,” you protested, “Charles is not in love with me. We’ve been friends for six years, I think I would know by now.”
“You’re both impossible,” Alex groaned. “Come on, Lily, I just came over to get you so we could play water polo with George and Carmen.”
Lily sighed in defeat, though she had a smile on her face at the thought of spending time with Alex even if it meant another competition. “I’ll see you, later, yeah?” She called over her shoulder, waving goodbye as you teased her by dramatically eating another slice of orange and settling back in your chair. At the front of the boat, Charles was laughing with Pierre and almost as if he felt you looking, he turned around and met your gaze.
Even though you had just wholly denied anything more than friendship between you and him, you couldn’t help but think about your interactions with Lily and Alex.
Sure, Charles sometimes did things that were out of the ordinary for ‘just friends’, but he had the sweetest soul of anyone you’d ever met. He always sacrificed his umbrella or jacket for you, made sure you had fresh tulips in your apartment when he was home in between races, had your favorite meal delivered to you when you were having a rough day while he was away and you missed him.
You did things for him too – cleaned his apartment when you knew he was on his way back to Monaco, left him plenty of sticky notes with words of encouragement if he was coming back from a bad race, stocked his fridge full of his favorite things. Recently, you’d been gifting him annotated books because he mentioned he wanted to read more and always enjoyed listening to you talk about your favorite novels. Since you spent most of the year apart, you decided he could at least read your thoughts.
When you could come to races, unfortunately a rare occurrence due to your graduate classes and work schedule, he made sure Ferrari hospitality had your favorite flavor of sparkling water on hand. Anytime you saw a cute dog video, you would send it to him because they always made him smile.
You’d do anything to make him smile, just as he would for you, which is what a good friend would do. A best friend, it’s what a best friend would do.
But best friends didn’t linger in doorways and stare at each other’s lips when bidding each other goodnight. They didn’t cuddle close and fall asleep in each other’s arms on a couch while watching whatever movie you had chosen because he always let you choose.
They didn’t look at one another the way Charles was looking at you now – his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and a dopey smile on his face. He waved to you and dramatically blew you a kiss, something he always did when he caught your eye across a room, no matter who was around.
You practically launched yourself to your feet, the last remaining orange slices in your lap falling to the lounger and staining the seat with juice. It was only seconds until you were standing in front of Charles but the walk over felt like an eternity with the way the world around you disappeared and your heart pounded in your chest.
“Est-ce que tu maimes, Charles?”
The question came out in one breath, your chest heaving in anticipation for his response.
“Of course, I love you, ma fleur,” he laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”
“No,” you panted. “Do you love me, Charlie? Est-ce que tu maimes?”
“Of course, I love you,” he answered again, his eyes shining and a small smile on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Every time I think of you, I love you. Every time I breathe, I love you.”
“Every time you peel my oranges?” You whispered, holding up your orange juice-stained fingertips. He took your right hand in his and held it up to his face to kiss your palm, his eyelashes fluttering against you gently.
“Especially when I peel your oranges. Did you know that I hate doing it too? Like, really hate it. I don’t even peel them for myself.”
You gasped in shock, watching as he threw his head back and laughed jovially.
“I’d do anything for you, ma fleur. Mon soleil. Mon cœur.”
“Would you kiss me?”
“Maybe if Pierre would leave and stop gawking at us.”
This time you threw your head back to laugh, Charles soon joining you as Pierre protested the accusation.
“No, no,” he shouted, “you didn’t even give me a chance to leave. Just started declaring your love before I knew what was happening. Which, by the way, was so obvious it was starting to get annoying. We’ve all tried dropping hints to both of you so I don’t know who got through to you, Y/N, but – ”
“Pierre!” You shouted, eyes wide and arm gesturing him away from the two of you.
“Ah, désolé, I’m leaving,” he grumbled, almost tripping over his own feet to get away as quickly as possible.
You giggled again and Charles gripped your chin softly, pulling your eyes away from Pierre and back to face him.
He leaned in gently, as if he was afraid you would back away and regret taking the leap to go from friends to something so much more.
He tasted like salt water, smelled like sweet fruit and sunscreen – you smiled into the kiss knowing that he had listened to you and put it on, even though you knew he hated the way it felt on his skin.
His fingers gripped your waist and yours trailed up his chest – both of you slightly sticky from the citrus juices and sweat from the sun.
You pulled away and nudged his nose with yours, breathing him in and wishing that this moment would never end. Charles lowered you both to the sun deck, adjusting until you were sitting between his legs and his arms were wrapped firmly around you, the two of you facing the sunset and open sea.
After a few moments, you broke the shared silence. “You know, I would have happily peeled an orange for you if you had ever asked me,” you asserted.
Charles’ hold on you softened at your admission, the thinly veiled meaning not at all lost on him as he pressed his lips to your cheek.
“I love you too, Y/N.”
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theawfuledges · 7 months
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still working on requests but i suddenly remembered that this post exists and immediately wanted needed to write touch-starved astarion. hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did!
a fervor, a sweet (astarion x gender neutral!reader, baldur’s gate 3)
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As thrilled as he is to be free of Cazador’s control, Astarion could do without the constant need for blood.
Deer and boar just aren’t cutting it these days, not when he’s expected to fight goblins or harpies or whatever other damnable creature whose midsts you keep gallivanting into. 
Which is why he’s using all of his roguish tricks to approach your sleeping form without notice, intent on nicking a few mouthfuls from your throat before you wake. Nothing outlandish - just a little nibble, enough to keep him going. Keep him strong. 
Of course you wake just as he’s kneeling down with fangs bared. Of course. Astarion is quick to explain himself, wary of a stake through the ribs, but you’re surprisingly amenable to having a vampire in your midsts. 
You’re surprisingly amenable to many things, actually, including offering him the blood he so desperately needs. 
Are you that trusting, he wonders. Or that naive? 
Either way, Astarion has learned never to look a gift horse in the mouth. He urges you to get comfortable and then dives into his first real meal in centuries, nearly sighing as the sweetness of your blood spills over his tongue.
It’s splendid, the taste of your blood thick in the back of his throat. He’s never tasted anything like it, never felt anything like it, the sheer rapturous joy of giving his body what it needs, and to have your blood be offered so willingly only seems to add to the euphoria of the experience. Gods, but he could spend ages buried in your throat.
He’s lost in a pleasurable half-state, numb to everything but your blood coating his tongue, and so he almost doesn’t notice your arm rising, not until your hand has settled on the back of his head. Disappointment curdles in his gut; you’re about to push him away and that, as they say, will be that. Ah well. It had been generous enough of you to offer this much. 
But you don’t push him off. Your fingers are moving, yes, but not in an attempt to dislodge him. You’re simply… touching him. Pushing wayward curls into place, trying to tame his hair into some semblance of order, no small feat considering how mussed it’s become from his journey through the nautiloid ship and days in the wilderness with you and the motley crew you’ve gathered. 
You’re careful about it, gentle. Astarion - well, he doesn’t quite know what to do in response. Even the sweetness of your blood fails to distract from the soft sensation of your fingers carding through his curls. 
Even as they slow to a stop atop the crown of his head, Astarion can do little but stare blankly at the skin of your throat, nearly forgetting to swallow his mouthful. And then you pat his head, your palm gentle to avoid mussing up the job you’d just completed on his hair, and Astarion is so surprised he lets go immediately. 
“Ah, that will be all, I think,” he murmurs, unable to discern if the warmth in his chest is from the meal he’d just indulged in or the way your fingers had felt combing through his curls. Either way, it would be a good idea to leave, now, lest he do something foolish.
He feels your eyes on his back as he walks - walks, not runs - away. He feels them for even longer after that, a gentle weight across his shoulders that fails to dissipate even as he gorges himself on boar and deer in the dark of the night.  
*
The camp is awash in celebration - Halsin has been rescued, the Druid ritual halted, and the goblin scourge destroyed. Merriment flows in the form of drink and song, and everywhere Astarion looks there is joy to be found on faces both familiar and not. 
He searches for you, certain that this night will allow him the perfect opportunity to strengthen your bond. You’re already charmed by him - but then, who wouldn’t be, with all of his talents? - and a night together would serve to secure his place by your side, secure his safety. His freedom.
He’s stopped multiple times by inebriated tieflings, all eager to give him thanks for his part in the goblin massacre. One pushes a bottle of too-sharp smelling wine into his arms, and bereft of any other choice, Astarion accepts the bounty with a pasted-on smile.
Surely you’re the one they should be fawning over, he thinks, taking a pull of the wine and grimacing at its taste. It should be you in the midst of this celebration, being plied with trinkets and tasteless wine and heralded as the hero you are.
And yet - 
“You do realize you’re the guest of honor, don’t you?” he questions, unable to contain the curl of his lips when you shoot him a startled glance. Apparently you hadn’t expected anyone to find you in this little hidey hole, tucked behind an outcropping of rock with the newest acquisition to your group nestled against your knee. The owlbear has its head resting on your thigh, cooing gently as your fingers stroke along its crown. 
“Are they asking for me?” Your voice is hushed, the faintest hint of a slur to your words, and Astarion huffs a laugh. He wasn’t the only recipient of subpar wine, it seems. 
“Not yet.” He approaches you and your little shadow, grateful that the owlbear cub seems more preoccupied with your fingers than turning those sharp claws onto him. “But they’ll come calling eventually. Why are you hiding?”
“I’m not!” you insist, though your words lack much conviction. “I’m simply - recovering. From the wine.”
Astarion smirks, taking a seat beside you. “From the adoration, you mean.”
You huff a breath, your fingers scratching lightly between the owlbear’s ears. “That, too,” you admit quietly. 
“The life of a hero not quite what you expected?” You’d taken to it like you were born to do so, never failing to offer your aid to any poor soul in need. Yet the grimace that twists your lips speaks of a keen dissatisfaction with the moniker. Interesting. 
“I’m not a hero - “ you start, only to falter at the placid look Astarion gives you. You huff out a breath. “Just because I enjoy helping people doesn’t mean I’m entirely comfortable with all the fanfare that comes with it.”
“Understandable.” Astarion leans back on his palms, idly listening to the tiefling bard’s song as it filters through camp. “Surprising, but understandable.”
Your brows climb. “Why is that surprising?” 
“Oh, come now,” he teases. “Isn’t half the fun of playing hero the praise and accolades that come after?”
You shake your head, a soft laugh bubbling from within your throat. It’s a pleasant sound. “I’d rather be giving the praise than receiving it,” you confess. The owlbear chirps as though in agreement and you take to cupping its plump cheeks in your palms, an affectionate glint in your eye. “Yes, you understand, don’t you, my brave little one?” Your fingers scritch gently through the owlbear’s feathers and the creature purrs, a rumble that Astarion can nearly feel in the soles of his feet.
You shoot a triumphant glance his way. “See? Much better.”
“Well, as long as you’re doling out praise,” he murmurs expectantly, some small part of him wondering why in the hells he’d decided to say such a thing and swiftly laying the blame for his loosened tongue on the awful wine. 
A look of surprise passes over your face before it’s swiftly replaced by an expression that Astarion can only define as fond. He should be thrilled about that - he’d set out to charm you to his side during your first meeting, after all, and here before him was the proof that his machinations were working. He waits for the satisfaction to spill through his veins, the joy of a job well done, but instead all he truly feels is… warmth. 
Warmth and the callused pads of your fingertips settling gently against his cheeks. He blinks in surprise at the unexpected touch, mutely staring as your eyes track his face and your lips tilt into a soft smile.
“You were very brave, too, Astarion,” you croon, in much the same tone as the words you’d cooed to the owlbear, and despite himself, Astarion feels a hot flush work its way down his chest. 
“Really now, darling,” he begins, adopting a lofty tone to distract from the shock of his own body’s reaction to your words. 
“Fierce as well,” you continue undeterred. “Cunning and swift. Utterly brilliant.” Your palms gently squeeze at his cheeks in much the same way you had just been handling the owlbear. That bit should offend him, probably - he isn’t some beast to be swayed by pretty words - but the expression on your face serves to soothe his ego well enough.
You’ve a mind for deception when the situation calls for it, but the wine and general merriment of the evening seem to have stripped you of all but sheer sincerity. You mean what you say. 
“Well, I - “ Astarion struggles for words - a first for him, in all truth. Perhaps the wine has addled his mind, too, for the only thought he seems capable of is how nice it might feel to slump against your hold, allowing you to be all that holds him aloft in the world. 
The owlbear trills between you, the call enough to distract you. Your hands slip from Astarion’s face and for reasons he chooses not to study too closely, it takes a valiant effort for the vampire not to snatch them back up again. 
That, he reasons, is his cue to leave, and with a swift farewell and a promise not to rat out your hiding place to the rest of the revelers, he goes. 
It doesn’t strike Astarion until he’s back within the safety of his own tent that his plans for the evening - to seduce you into his bed and bolster your growing bond - had been completely waylaid. He should be furious with himself, and he waits for the bitter sting of disappointment to settle on his tongue - 
But it doesn’t.
Strange.
*
Camp is mostly silent when Astarion returns from his late night feeding, though you appear to still be awake, nestled on a log by the fire and staring silently into the depths of the flames. 
He debates bypassing you entirely but that feels too much like retreating. The night of the tiefling’s celebration remains fresh in his mind, his body’s increasingly confusing reactions to your touch stalling his feet, but Astarion is no coward. 
In truth, you look so lost in thought that he could have passed you completely uncontested, and he might have tried his luck, if only he weren’t so sure that he himself was the source of your turmoil. 
The Gur hunter had been a nasty little surprise. Astarion had given little thought to the possibility of Cazador sending someone after him, or perhaps he’d always known it was an inevitability and merely elected not to give credence to the thought. A folly on his part, to be sure. He would have to be much more vigilant in future.
“Don’t tell me you were waiting up for me,” he quips, taking no small amount of pleasure in your startled expression as he settles onto the log beside you. 
You open your mouth - perhaps to deny his accusation - but seem to sense the futility of such a claim. 
“We can’t be certain that Gandrel was working alone,” you say, turning your gaze once more to the flames. “I felt better, waiting.”
“Ah,” Astarion murmurs. You were concerned for him, then. He’d known as much - even after dispatching of the hunter and facing down the hag afterward, you had refused to rest until the party was well beyond the borders of the swamp. A blessing, really, considering the stench of the place, but even Lae’zel and Wyll had raised a brow at your haste. 
Silence falls between you for a moment, slightly awkward but also strangely comfortable, heavy with words unsaid. You look fit to bursting, however; Astarion can feel your gaze darting to him when you feel he isn’t aware, and he resists the urge to smile. He has centuries on you - he can be patient. 
“Your arm?” There it is, your voice deceptively light when you finally speak.
Astarion huffs. Was that what had worried you so?
“It was only a flesh wound, pet.” The Gur’s arrow had sliced a furrow into his forearm, leaving behind a stinging, bloody mess, but it was nothing a few mouthfuls of blood couldn’t fix. 
You nod jerkily, brows furrowing. “I know,” you mutter, though you don’t sound entirely convinced.
Astarion sighs, though even he can hear the fond exasperation in it. “See for yourself,” he says, holding his bare arm out for your perusal.
The skin is pale, unmarred, as though the wound had never been inflicted at all. He expects the silent look of awe that passes over your face; he even expects the relief, though the vulnerability of the expression - the proof that you’ve grown to care for him - is enough to make him second guess his earlier decision to approach you.
He’s not expecting your fingers, roughened at the tips with calluses from wielding your weapon, to wrap gingerly around his arm.
Astarion goes still, watching as you study the offending limb with far more intensity than it deserves. Your nails drag lightly over the stretch of skin where the arrow had struck, leaving a tingling sensation behind in their wake. 
He’s rocketed back to the night you’d first offered your blood to him, to the moment during the tiefling’s celebration when you’d gathered his face in your hands and touted him brave. He’s freshly fed and pleasantly full, but the warmth in his belly has little to do with blood.
It’s you.
It’s you and this damnable urge you seem to have to touch him - his hair, his face, his body, all seemingly without thought, without sexual intent, without cruelty.
When had such a touch ever been bestowed upon him? Before his death, certainly. Before Cazador. 
The thought roars through him like a wailing beast. 
Why are you doing this? Why do you care?
Why does Astarion never want you to stop?
“I’m glad there was no lasting damage,” you murmur, your hands curled loosely around his arm. You’ve no intention of letting him go anytime soon, it seems, but that’s alright. That lost, fretful look has vanished from your face, leaving behind sweet relief and a small, lopsided smile.
Astarion wants to taste it, to feel the texture and give of your mouth against his. Not to manipulate, not to coax you into bed, but simply because he wants to.
Gods above, he actually wants.
*
He carries the feeling, for a time. 
The want, the need. The ache.
It builds and it builds, a sweet desperation that he’s never quite felt before, until eventually even Astarion’s centuries-born patience runs reed thin. 
The Elfsong Tavern comes as a welcome respite after spending weeks in the wilderness. The entire upper floor is yours, and even Lae’zel seems more approachable after a few nights spent in the comfort of a real bed - much as she may hiss when Astarion tells her so.
A confrontation with Cazador lies just around the corner, a looming threat that hangs over all of your heads. You’re strong - stronger than Astarion had ever thought possible - but there’s a very real chance that none of you will see the light of day again after you breach his stronghold.  
If this is to be his last night on earth, Astarion reasons as he comes to a halt outside your door and raises a hand to rap at the wood, then he’ll be damned if he spends it without the comfort of your touch. 
You call for him to enter, and at his first glance of you, his resolve firms. You’ve discarded your armor, clad in loose clothing that makes you look soft, open. 
The urge to tease, to pester and charm disappears. Astarion climbs atop your bed, settles himself at your side, and for the first time in recent memory, asks for something he actually wants.
“Touch me?” 
Your brows jump, mouth parting on a slow, sharp breath. You set aside the tome you’d been reading, eyes searching his own. He half-expects you to question him, to gently urge him from your room. 
But you don’t.
Your palms are warm against his jaw, your touch tentative, exploratory, until Astarion sighs and sinks against you. 
You murmur his name, your voice soft, full of surprise, of wonder. 
“Please,” he whispers, and you laugh, a soft, shaky thing, disbelieving, awestruck. Fond. 
You thumb at his cheekbone, drag your nails along his jaw, trace the bow of his lips until he’s gasping for breath, a fire sparking in his blood. Your fingers shift gently through his hair, and then firm within his curls whenever he releases a low, trembling moan. 
Each touch you bestow upon him is a solar flare, blinding, brilliant, hot: your hands stroking over the crown of his head, dragging through the short curls at his nape, scratching lightly over his throat, his shoulders, his waist. 
His chin falls to your shoulder as your palms spread out along his back, dragging a trail of fire down the length of his spine. He presses his lips against your throat and bites out your name, warm and wanting, and you croon against his ear, nonsense words interspersed with his name. The scent of your own desire, your skin, your need is a heady concoction, making his head spin and his fangs ache. Thoughts of the parasite, the Absolute, Cazador - they all fade to the back of his mind, unimportant, insignificant to the heat of your hands upon his skin.
“Don’t stop.” It’s a desperate order, his voice gravel, his blood afire. His buries his hands beneath your tunic, feels your body shake as tremulously as his own, and knows in that moment that he could never let you go. 
“I won’t.” Your voice is a balm, a declaration, a vow. You press your lips to his brow and say it again, the cadence of the words sinking deep, taking hold, stronger than Cazador’s cruelty and the parasite’s hunger and everything else that you’ve yet to face. 
It should be terrifying - it is terrifying, but Astarion has long grown accustomed to fear.
He'll welcome this one with open arms.
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astonmartinii · 8 months
Text
into the arms of another part two | max verstappen social media au
pairing: max verstappen x reader
part two to this !! part three
yourusername
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yourusername: winner winner chicken dinner !! congrats maxy i’m so proud of you always
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user1: i know charles’ head is hot right now
user2: i hope netflix are taking notes cause this tea is steaming hot
maxverstappen1: thank you baby, helps when i have the prettiest cheerleader in the world
yourusername: i am the sexiest sargent in all of the orange army
maxverstappen1: too right you are
user3: i miss when y/n was the head of the tifosi the red monochromatic fits ate so hard
user4: i need charles to pull his head out of his ass and apologise so we can reclaim her before monza
user5: do not even bring up the fact we may not have custody of her for monza
danielricciardo: leave some for the rest of us maxy
yourusername: no actually i think it’s illegal for max not to win sorry
danielricciardo: will that change if charlie apologises?
yourusername: considering that hasn’t happened and doesn’t look to be happening any time soon - no.
user6: CHARLES PLEASE DO SOMETHING
user7: he doesn’t have to do anything, she’s just bitter cause she’s always been the bridesmaid and never the bride. we ALL know she’s always loved charles and she can’t handle that she’s not the centre of his attention it’s kinda pathetic
maxverstappen1: what made you think you know any of us enough to comment something like this? what told you that you even had a right to talk about y/n like that? she’s everything you could ever wish to be and more and she will never ever deserve the things you people are saying about her. charles would be lucky to have y/n in his life platonically or romantically but it’s his loss
user8: boyf of the year right here
user9: charles take note ^^^ this is how you’re meant to defend your best friend
landonorris: i am once again asking for photo credits i’m not gonna be your personal photographer for free
maxverstappen1: i literally paid for your dinner
yourusername: you’re literally a millionaire
landonorris: i don’t care a man still likes to be wined and dined
yourusername: just to make it clear we are not looking for a third
user10: i promise i can change your mind give me a chance
f1tea
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liked by user11, user12 and 2,349 others
f1tea: charles leclerc caught liking this tweet about the situation between him and y/n. seems like he won’t back down on this. what do you think?
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user13: i need this mans head on a spike i’m so serious
user14: i want to play pinball with the single marble in his head
user15: i think ferrari have genuinely caused real head rot in him cause no way he thinks this is a serve
user16: let's be real charles' biggest rivals are ferrari and himself
user17: not this man at his BIG AGE is liking shady tweets about his best friend
user18: i think it's safe to say they're not best friends any more
user19: also "biggest rival" my ass max and charles are fucking friends now so this whole narrative is complete horse shit
user20: i'm so bored of charles playing the victim bro YOU ARE THE INSTIGATOR YOU ARE THE PROBLEM
user21: the way charles is liking shit like this but max is writing whole ass essays in the comments defending her
user22: and that''s why i'll always back that she ended up with the right man
user23: max is so far in the lead in the championship i need him to take charles out for the narrative
user24: are we in high school? like seriously this is so fucking petty i cannot wait for media day this weekend
user25: he's either gonna be the funniest man in the world or he's gonna bite someones fucking head off
user26: and i'll back it either way
user27: i know y/n is about to have her revenge dress moment in the paddock someone get kym illman ready STAT.
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f1wagsupdates
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tagged: yourusername
f1wagsupdates: REVENGE DRESS MOMENT !!! y/n y/ln enters the paddock in monza in this stunning black dress, showing the world what a catch she is, oh and that is max holding the umbrella for her, what a gentleman.
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user28: mother came to slay i cannot even
user29: this right after max came for charles in the press conference is PERFECTION + NO RED IN MONZA !!
user30: i see lily and carmen in the likes in knew they'd be on the right side
user31: girl i don't think anyone is on charles' side
user32: yall see the stink eye from the red bull garage when charles walked past they have y/n's back LOL
user33: the red bull garage been ride or dies for max so it defo makes sense that they would extend that to y/n
user34: christian was defo waiting for a question about it in the press conference
user35: someone on twitter got a clip of him putting his arm around fred going out of the paddock and telling him to get his driver under control
user36: yall are we on the kardashians what the fuck is going on
user37: people may hate christian but he defends his driver so much that he's inserting himself in the relationship drama
user38: i don't even follow f1 but whoever this is this serving oh my
user39: this is so exhausting like i need charles to just apologise so we can get cute y/n x max x charles content
user40: torturing myself thinking about how cute that dynamic could be
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f1
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liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 1,203,457 others
f1: max verstappen clinches his tenth win of the season at monza, joined by sergio perez and oscar piastri. home heroes charles leclerc and carlos sainz came together at turn one, awful showing for ferrari in monza
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user41: this narrative is so so poetic
user42: i feel bad for the tifosi at this point y'all get your hopes up every season
user43: charles you aimed the wrong way if you wanted to take max out
user44: the way max kissed y/n after winning god they're so cute
user45: also the way christian got everyone to move so y/n could get to the front to see max
user46: even marko looked happy about it what is going on?
user47: y'all we knew it was gonna be bad for ferrari y/n wasn't wearing red, call me superstitious but every time she's worn red charles has either won or been on the podium
user48: well that's just what he gets for not appreciating her
user49: as fernando would say KARMA
user50: someone check charles' blood pressure please
maxverstappen1
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maxverstappen1: winning on and off the track, some of you can't relate.
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user51: parents omg
danielricciardo: fighting words maxy, not pulling your punches
maxverstappen1: i do my fighting on the track, not my fault people can't get past turn one to give me a real battle
danielricciardo: i need to be inside your brain
maxverstappen1: no there's images of y/n in my brain that no other man will ever see
danielricciardo: you crack me up maxy
yourusername: woah who's that fine ass piece of woman
maxverstappen1: she's taken sorry
yourusername: that's a shame, i hope that man is taking care of her
maxverstappen1: i don't believe she's got any complaints
yourusername: wow you sound like a gentleman, she's a lucky woman
maxverstappen1: believe me i am the lucky one.
yourusername: awwww maxy you're literally the sweetest person in the world
user52: if i was charles and i saw this after that race you'd have to restrain me i'm so serious
user53: i'm happy for y/n and max but i need them to stop being happy in my face
alexalbon: ur welcome for that first picture btw
yourusername: lily taught you well
alexalbon: so no thanks?
yourusername: i joke thank you very much sir albon
user54: so like all of the twitch quartet are on y/n's side? awkward.
yourusername
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yourusername: charles and i have been best friends since i knew what the word meant and it really hurts that is has gotten to this point. when charles got his first girlfriend i chalked it up to the excitement of the experience, but when he routinely got in and out of relationships and falling back on our friendship once scorned, i started to question what he really felt about our friendship. i overlooked it every time even when it made me doubt my worth and hoped our friendship meant more. however, the cycle continued and after being left stranded at a beach in a country i do not know i decided it was the end. i have reached out to you so, so many times and want nothing more than our friendship to work and so we can be life-long friends that we can tell our kids about. but i guess it's not worth that much to you and that's something i'll have to reconcile with. the only positive coming from this the fact that it pushed me to the love of my life, so thank you for that.
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charles_leclerc
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charles_leclerc: i've already got my trophy, sorry not sorry.
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user56: WHAT THE FUCK
user57: my brain is actually scrambled
user58: charles' must be as well cause no way he thought this was a good idea
landonorris: so this is a low blow
charles_leclerc: since when were you the reference point for morals
landonorris: damn dude, you're in the wrong but go off i guess
user59: why do i actually want to cry for y/n right now? she did this whole ass heartfelt post with no comments so people wouldn't be able to speculate and he replies with a pic of his gf's ASS
danielricciardo: not cool dude
charles_leclerc: i see you all took her side and our friendships mean fuck all
danielricciardo: kinda ironic you bring up respecting friendships
charles_leclerc: spare me the lecture
maxverstappen1: you're a child. but this is the closure she needs. cheers to being an asshole.
charles_leclerc: so you managed to get some of my sloppy seconds, you're welcome
maxverstappen1: she's not sloppy seconds and i can't believe you'd refer to her as that. but if you wanna talk sloppy seconds you can hold the 100 point gap between us in the championship. and y/n will never say this so i'll say it for her GO FUCK YOURSELF
user60: SHOTS FIRED
user61: men are so confusing
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yourusername added to their story
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[caption: taking some time for myself. thank you for your kind words and know i have an amazing support system around me now]
f1wagsupdates
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liked by user65, user66 and 5,430 others
tagged: charles_leclerc
f1wagsupdates: charles leclerc spotted outside y/n y/ln's office with flowers this afternoon. idk at this point, any time i report on this man i lose more brain cells.
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user67: lol even wag page admins are done
f1wagsupdates: he gives me a lot of content but damn he needs to sort his head out
user68: lol this is gonna be an all time apology tour i can't wait
user69: i honestly don't want y/n to forgive him he doesn't deserve it.
user70: yeah max has proven ride or die for y/n so i know who she should stick with
user71: i need him to donate his brain to science cause in what world is a measly bouquet of flowers gonna cover all of this shit ?
user72: legit he's systematically ditched his best friend, let randomers on the internet drage her name through the mud and then liked it and then flaunted the fact that he didn't care about their friendship for everyone to see
maxverstappen1: lol nice try
user73: my petty king i love him so much
user74: i know y/n is taking a break from social media but i hope she knows how much love she's getting
user75: for real we're all on her side i hope she slammed that door in charles' face
user76: i hope that bouquet ended up in the bin
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maxverstappen1 added to their story
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[caption: special delivery for a special girl]
note: i know this was heavily requested so here it is!! i really like it and it's defo open for a third part if yall want charles and y/n to reconcile? thank you for reading xx
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lunarduty · 1 month
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𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙀𝙔𝙀𝙎 𝘼𝙎 𝘿𝙀𝘼𝘿 𝘼𝙎 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙀
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☾ definition: dacryphilia refers to sexual pleasure or arousal from seeing tears or hearing the sounds of crying. 141 + ALEJANDRO + RUDY + GRAVES X F!READER TAGS | nsfw, smut, crying, mention of a safe word, f!dom, overstimulation, orgasm denial WC | 3,099
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JOHN PRICE
… sees you cry and praises.
if john could see your eyes right now, he’d tell you not to be embarrassed. would probably coo at you like a prized horse. ask you what was wrong, and if there was anything he could do to help.
problem was, you weren’t sure what it was you were crying over - the bite of wood against your skin, or john’s tongue between your thighs.
both were agonizing in their own ways. both BURNED with something that hurt too good to admit. both demanded your attention, but as always, john eventually won the fight for it. the tiny little scrapes and bumps caused by the old wood of his desk had started to numb when the tears came. john’s fingers pushing into your cunt acted as a sort of balm. you couldn’t feel anything but him.
his broad shoulders had kept your legs spread for far too long at this point, so they eventually began to ache too. they tremble and quake around john’s shoulders. you know he feels it, and thinks it’s because of his tongue and fingers.
he’s not far from the truth.
and just as soon as john’s eyes shoot up, you’re throwing your head back. eyes squeezing shut, shuddering breath disguised behind a moan, hoping to just cum on his mouth and he doesn’t have to know he caused the tears that seem to burn your eyes. he’s kept you on the edge for so long, it wouldn’t be hard to simply focus on his tongue and let go.
there’s a burn behind your eyelids. more tears form when his fingers curl and his tongue flicks a certain way.
“john,” you breathe out, ending his name with a pant. “it’s… i-”
“look at me, love.”
it was an order. plain and clear. your head snaps up immediately, finding his half-illuminated eyes in the lowlight of his office. dark hair looking raven black, eyes blown up to match - but even then, you see them LIGHT up with amusement. even in shitty lighting, john catches the glimmer of tears. right on the edge of falling down your pretty cheeks - you probably don’t even notice. it only makes him harder.
he laughs in a low rumble. “so fucking pretty, aren’tcha?”
you nod; panting, writhing, crying.
john leans his head in closer, pushing in his fingers as far as they’ll go. “pretty girl gonna cum for me? all sweet and tight around my fingers? keep watching me, love - gonna cum now? yeah, go right ahead, dove. you more than DESERVE it.”
the orgasm hits like a truck when john grinds his tongue against your clit. just before your eyes squeeze shut again, a tear finally breaks free and glides down your cheek - warm and flushed from a climax that he’s sure someone must’ve heard.
john has always promised he’d never make you cry, but this is a damn good exception.
KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK
… sees you cry and dotes.
gaz has always gone on and on about how much he wants to keep you separate from his work. to leave all the roughness behind when he’s with you. it was never really a problem until tonight - sweet and gentle and slow to a fault. 
too sweet. too gentle. too slow. 
kyle is careful to keep a STEADY pace - a careful rock of his hips, lightly grinding against yours when he’s pressed in deep, making you feel each and every inch of him before gradually pulling out to do when same thing over again. and you know he doesn’t do things without an express purpose - after extending your orgasm a few times, it’s safe to say that your safety isn’t the top priority for once.
he hasn’t gone much faster than this languid pace. selfishly listening to your stunted breaths and pained whimpers of his name. 
if you ask him to go faster, gaz slows down. if you beg for something harder, he smiles and kisses you and tells you to be patient. 
but what has all this patience gotten you? two incredibly drawn out orgasms that fucking ACHED when they hit and kyle stubbornly keeping his thrusts slow and torturous under his guise of being gentle. it’s all a little too much. too intense. your eyes squeeze shut, face nestled against kyle’s neck, hips shifting up when he buries his cock in to try and grind out another orgasm. 
unfortunately, gaz knows you. knows your movements and knows your sounds - the shortening of your breaths and desperate whimpers and choked moans and… sniffles?
his pulls his head up immediately, eyes narrowing in on the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. and gaz grins - he can’t help against it. his cock pulses when a finger comes up to brush a tear away before it has a chance to fall down your face.
“poor baby,” he coos. if you weren’t so wound up, you might’ve noticed how tight his voice sounds. “it’s alright. doing so well for me. gonna make you cum again, don’t you worry. just hang in there, yeah?” his words are breathed against your lips, and by some miracle, gaz picks up the pace. hips picking up speed, even rocking a little stronger and it isn’t until you heard the slap of skin do you truly realize how SOAKED he got you.
the initial tears were caused by kyle’s torturous pace. a new set follows the old when he finally fucks you properly. gaz doesn’t mind - he likes wiping them away.
JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH
… sees you cry and teases.
“why’re you crying, bonnie? did you hurt your feelings or something?”
soap knows you won’t respond. not that you could.
the pace of his thrusts are too rough. too quick. too deep. using all his weight to slam into you again and again, not letting up for a moment. the worst part is, you know he has the stamina to keep going, even if you beg him to slow down. to let you breathe air that doesn’t taste like him.
your nails dig into the skin of soap’s chest as you shake your head. everything ached in a delicious way but it wasn’t your feelings that were hurt. soap moves his hand from his bruising grip on your hips to clasp around your jaw, shifting your head to look him straight on. he wants you looking at him, even through WATERY eyes. 
soap grunts as he shifts into a better position to fuck you in. his hair is mussed from your fingers. skin blotchy and flushed from exertion. he still grins at you. “then why’re you crying? want me to stop? is that it?”
“no!” you cry out - half a moan and half a shout.
a thoughtful hum vibrates against his ribs as soap’s fingers release your jaw, only to come up and wipe away a tear that leaked from the corner of your eye. “ahh, i get it, lass,” he breathes out, continuing his rough thrusts with a deep groan. “you’re cryin’ so pretty ‘cause you like getting fucked so good. am i right? my girl loves getting fucked ‘till she cries?”
you’re silent. eyes falling shut, mouth agape, head tilting back to ignore soap’s teases and just feel the addicting slide of his cock. he slows his thrusts only to grind against your pelvis and it’s such a massive difference in sensation that you nearly cum on the spot. it works to make you cry out his name.
“fuck- johnny!” and you do. so, so prettily.
SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY
… sees you cry and worries.
simon’s face still hurt - a spot right over his cheekbone, purple and swollen and it aches almost enough to make him forget about how sore the rest of his body is.
it’s easy enough to ignore. it’s not liquor or ibuprofen that dulls the pain. his old methods of healing after a rough mission seem useless in the wake of pressing you back on the couch. it’s the touch of your skin, the smell of your hair, the noises you make that really pull him back together. you’re careful not to tug at him too hard or touch any of his TENDER aches, even when he begs you to.
yeah. it’s easy for simon to forget how close he was to not be here fucking you.
his fingers dig into the armrest of the couch, forcing his throbbing body to move as fast as he wants it to. an impromptu fuck on the couch wasn’t exactly planned tonight - you went on and on about how much you wanted to take care of him. but you’ve been clinging to him all night. never letting him out of your sight. it was just a natural progression and simon sure as shit wasn’t complaining.
“fuck, lovie,” he groans out slowly. if you keep moving your hips like that, he’s not gonna last much longer.
and fuck, simon was so close, he could taste it. feel it building in the base of his spine and how tight his stomach gets and it all makes it a little easier to forgo his aches to simply drive into you again and again. your arms wrap around his torso, brushing against tender ribs - when simon hisses, he’s unsure if it’s the pain or the sudden tightness around his cock when you jolt. simon’s mind goes blank and he’s just so fucking close and…
you make a new noise. unfamiliar to the ones simon has memorized when he’s fucking you. his eyes are HAZY and unfocused when he looks at you, and he didn’t quite know what he expected to find. tears accompanied the sniffle he heard, and your hand comes up to wipe them away in haste.
simon’s hips freeze instantly. “hey, hey, hey. what’s wrong? you okay?”
fuck, did he do something wrong?
to his surprise, you scoff. smiling despite wet cheeks and red eyes and simon blames his impending orgasm for how slow he is to understand. “i’m okay,” you reassure him. when your fingers trail up his spine, simon can barely breathe. “i just love you so much. don’t be so RECKLESS next time, okay?”
your legs tighten their hold around his hips. pulling him closer even when simon wants to pull back and really make sure you’re okay. you don’t allow it, instead grinding up against him at the same pace he’d been fucking you in - still sniffling and wiping a tear away on his arm.
simon swears he’s never cum so hard in his life.
ALEJANDRO VARGAS
… sees you cry and stares.
morning has always been alejandro’s favorite time of day.
pinkish gold sunlight coming in through the window promises a beautiful day that he’ll likely be too busy to truly enjoy but welcomes all the same. alejandro hears the bustle of traffic outside - your place isn’t nearly as nice as his, but it’s closer to base and he’s never been known to waste time with you. alejandro is just a little tempted to rip his gaze away from you to enjoy the sunrise coming over las almas.
but he doesn’t. he never does. you’re just too fucking pretty.
alejandro kills two birds with one stone. pulls you out of bed and leads you over to the window just as the sun paints the clouds a deep gold. it saturates your skin in such a perfect way where alejandro can’t help but to touch it. touch your face, your neck, your shoulders, your back, your stomach, and well, he knows your pussy would look fucking HEAVENLY under the light as well.
“pretty fucking girl,” alejandro groans out. he usually likes watching his cock sink inside of you, but there was something about the glow of your skin pressed against the window that makes him just stare at your face. his thrusts are slow and deep, and your breath fogs up the glass, and you keep tugging your shirt down when alejandro pushes it up because you’re the one who has to face your neighbors every day.
when you came along, he didn’t think there could ever be a more beautiful sight than when you first smiled at him.
you proved him wrong with just a few tears reflecting the sunrise.
alejandro could’ve came right then and there. his hips did a little stutter and he grunted when you let out a little whimper while squeezing your eyes shut and he just watched a tear glide over your cheek. he almost pulls you away from the window to flip you around. fully face him so the glass doesn’t GREEDILY soak up all your tears because he’s fucking you so firmly against it.
“al- alejan- fuck, i’m so…”
“i know, baby. keep looking at me. yeah, lemme see those eyes. fuck…”
he kisses you. has a hand tangled into your hair and twists your neck into a better angle and kisses you to taste the salt on your lips and it’s like a bomb went off. alejandro’s hips pick up their pace and you rock back against him and fog up the glass even more when you shudder on his cock.
he cums with your tears wiping off against his own cheeks and salt on his tongue.
RUDOLFO PARRA
… is the one to cry.
“it’s okay, rudy. doing so good for me. i’m almost there, you don’t have to cry.”
was he crying? fuck, he was. rudy didn’t even notice until you smiled at him fondly, bringing a hand up to brush away a tear that broke past his lashes and threatened to fall down his face. 
rudy waits for the hot flash of embarrassment to hit him, but it never does. maybe it’s because this is you. but it's more likely because he’s so fucking close to cumming, he can’t focus on anything else but you. keeping his hands locked around your hips, strong enough to keep them moving back and forth even when you try to slow them down and draw out his orgasm. 
you hadn’t even notice rudy’s big, wet eyes until you attempted to slow down. keeping a more steady pace in his lap to give your thighs a rest, and yeah, to wind rudy up just a little. he works so hard. he DESERVES to get fucked out of his mind now and then.
maybe you went too far, though. when you try to stall your hips, his hands make sure they keep their pace. his own hips buck up off the bed to get even deeper.
“i know you wanna cum.” it’s difficult to keep your voice steady. to not devolve into harsh pants and groans like he has. “but not before me, okay? make me cum, rudy. fuck, make me cum…”
he huffs - such a large demand for someone so fucked-stupid. rudy is so smart, so capable, and so fucking useless right now that maybe it’s too much to ask of him. so to help him out, you pry his hand off your hip. bring it up to your mouth and slide the whole length of his thumb between your lips, letting it glide across your tongue.
rudy instantly gasps and his hips jolt up. you can feel his cock throb even harder inside of you.
but with his thumb coated in saliva, you bring his hand down to where you meet. rudy takes it from there - give him a task, point him in the right direction, and he’ll complete it. he rubs his thumb in tight, DESPERATE circles while his other hand keep your hips in a deep grinding pace until you cum all over him.
it was good. fucking fantastic. but not your favorite part.
rudy knows he’s finally allowed to cum, and he does. so achingly beautiful in the way his jaw drops open, saliva stringing between his teeth. eyes hazy and wet with damp cheeks and a pink nose and when he groans, his voice is hoarse and choked. 
eventually, when you fall against his chest, all you hear are rudy’s hard panting and his sniffles.
PHILLIP GRAVES
… sees you cry and laughs.
graves can be a real asshole sometimes. sarcastic, arrogant, and you know him well enough to know that he kinda likes it. makes him feel larger than life. untouchable. now is no different.
“c’mon, hun. i wanna hear it. y’can’t cum until i hear you say it.”
your arms are thrown over your face, hiding the way your teeth grit together and your eyes screw shut and how your jaw hangs open to gasp for air whenever graves bullies his cock even deeper with each thrust. and to be honest, you barely heard what he said - it was all just white noise. still, you know what he wants. and you’re a little too PROUD to give in.
there’s silence. graves scoffs and you feel him lean forward to grip your arms in his hands. being ripped away from your face reveals a little tremble of your lips, tiny red splotches on your cheeks, and tears lining your eyes. 
graves laughs as if it isn’t his fault. torturing you and playing with you. resetting the goalpost of what you need to do to cum.
the laugh is deep and GENUINE - the kind you’re treated with in the middle of the night away from his shadows, saved especially for you. the grin that accompanies it isn’t bad either. but the laugh is like a slap to the face (something graves might’ve inflicted if his hands were free - after all, you haven’t said your safe word.)
“my poor baby.” he says it so condescendingly. with a quirk of his brow and tilt of his head. as if he and his cock hadn’t caused the tears. “bet it’s gettin’ painful, huh? bet a good orgasm will make you feel right as rain.”
you slowly nod because god, you need to cum.
so graves hums, still wearing a smirk as he shifts on his knees. you whimper under the movement, spine arching, eyes solely focused on him. “then you gotta ask permission, right? c’mon, hun. sound off for me. i know you can do it,” he encourages while his fingers trail slowly down your body. going straight where you needed him the most.
normally, if you weren’t so wound up, you might’ve gotten smart with him. but as extra initiative, graves bends his spine a little. pushing his cock in just a little deeper and plainly getting off on how you gasp and your eyes finally push out hot, wet tears. 
this has gone on for too long. everything from your pussy down is throbbing.
“shadow 0-1…”
“hearin’ you loud and clear, baby.”
“requesting permission to cum…”
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sunonyoreface · 1 year
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One Cot - Simon “Ghost” Riley
Hi there, this story is a one shot about Simon Riley. I haven’t played COD before and I don’t know much about his character, but I love the thought of tough men being soft.
Summary: You help Ghost on a cold night and he returns the favour.
Word count: 2398
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader
Warnings: none, fluff.
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Crews like task force 141 aren’t the type to pack extra cots. They don’t need them. Because crews like 141 don’t make a habit of bringing home extra bodies. There’s only ever one scenario when they have extra cots. Luckily for them, tonight’s not one of those nights.
For me, however, that means another night on the floor with my ankle cuffed to the bottom of one of their cots in case I try to run.
 Although I’m deemed non-violent, I’m also a flight risk. According to them at least.
 According to me, I have no clue where we are or how I’d even survive away from them. I’ve got no money, no ID, no map or compass, or even the slightest clue how I’d escape. Regardless, the cuffs stay on.
 My wrists face the same fate. But my hands are free enough to rake them through my damp hair, working them through the tangles. It’s a soothing feeling of normalcy in this strange place.
 In his cot on the other side of the room, Soap waits for one of the other boys to return from the showers and trade off babysitting duty.
 One thing I can say is that chivalry is not dead, because they allowed me to shower first. Not that it matters all that much. There’s no hot water anyway so there isn’t much of a benefit in going first. But it’s the thought that counts.
 Ghost is the first one back. It’s strange not seeing him wear layers upon layers of tactical gear. Instead, he only wears dark jeans and a black henley. And the balaclava too. I’ve yet to see him take it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showered with it on. I don’t know that the other guys have seen him take it off either. They make comments sometimes, little jabs and jokes about how it never comes off. Ghost hardly notices though. Or maybe I should say hardly reacts. He’s stoic through it all, preventing any emotions from breaking through.
 Soap leaves without a word. They understand their positions. So well, that half the time I think they’re communicating through their thoughts.
 Ghost places a duffel bag on the cot I’m cuffed to. I sit cross-legged on a blanket on the floor as he ruffles through it.
 His strong form towers over me two feet away. Ghost doesn’t make eye contact as I watch him search through the bag. He’s less threatening without the bulky gear and a gun in his hand. But that mask is still terrifying enough to find its way into your dreams.
 However, it's not the mask that sets me on edge around Ghost, it’s his eyes. They’re cold and unwavering, giving away nothing. They’re the eyes of a killer. Of someone who enjoys inflicting pain. Of someone whose been in so much pain himself, his only release is passing it on to others.
 He hasn’t bothered me that much since my first day with them all. Back when he was ready to put me down like a lame horse. I was a loose end that needed to be tied up. Still am, if I’m being honest. Price stopped him, but if it was up to Ghost, I’d have been dead for days now. Even now, I’m sure part of him wants to kill me knowing it’s the more logical option. But until then, he’s under orders to keep me alive.
 “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a staring problem?” His rough voice breaks the silence. He rarely acknowledges me so for him to speak up must mean I’ve struck a nerve. My mouth suddenly feels dry.
 “Just you,” I say. “Sorry.”
 But I don’t look away. I continue to watch him search through the bag. I don’t know what he’s looking for but he can’t seem to find it. The tight sleeves of the Henley hug his strong arms. Even through the fabric, I can see the defined lines of his muscles. His posture is nearly perfect and his movements could almost be considered robotic.
 “What’re you looking for?” He doesn’t seem like the type of person to misplace his things.
 “Nothing,” he responds bluntly.
 “Maybe it fell behind the cot. I can check for you?” I offer.
 “Negative.”
 “Are you sure beca-“
 “Stop talking, y/n,” he snaps. I flinch at his response. As he says this he finally makes eye contact with me and I regret ever looking at him. There’s an anger in his eyes that no man I’ve ever met has been able to match. A deep-rooted hatred for the world and all of its inhabitants. It’s not a look that you’re born with. It’s one that’s carved from years of pain and betrayal. He’s witnessed the type of things that would break most people. The intensity of his gaze is too much. I break eye contact to stare at the floor.
 Fine. I won’t try to help.
 I lean against the cement wall and try to think about anything else. I press my hands to the inside of my thighs in an attempt to warm them up.
 When they found me I was only in ripped shorts and a ratty tank top with nothing else to my name.
 Since then some of the men spared me a set of long johns, a long sleeve shirt, and a pair of thick socks. I’m not allowed shoes in case I try and take off. It’s better than what I had but the warehouse is cold and the cement floor seems to suck out any heat my body produces.
 Ghost angrily zips up the duffel bag and tosses it on the floor at the other end of the cot. I watch the bag skid for a foot before finally coming to a stop.
 He climbs onto the cot with a dissatisfied grunt. Ghost sleeps with his head on the far side of the cot and his feet at the end I’m cuffed to. He doesn’t take his shoes off. None of them do. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t sleeping with more gear on. Some days they’ll all sleep in their tactical gear as if they’re waiting to be attacked. Part of me is relieved they don’t feel as though that’s a threat tonight.
 I can hear voices echo down the halls. Some of the others must be done in the showers.
 I lie down on my makeshift bed: a pillow and a blanket that I fold in half to act as a mattress and duvet.
 When I lie down, however, something shiny catches my eye under Ghost’s cot.
 It’s a tiny chain. A necklace.
 On my hands and knees, I crawl under his cot to grab the necklace.
 “What’re you doing?” Ghost mumbles above me. I hear him shift his weight against the rough canvas fabric.
 When I back out from under the cot, he’s sitting with his legs off the edge. Suspiciously eyeing my movements. His right hand is in one of his pant pockets probably wrapped around a knife in case I try something.
 I kneel in front of the bed beside his legs. My damp hair clings to my neck and the tip of my nose is red and cold.
 I raise the chain up to Ghost. His eyes latch on immediately.
 “Is this it?” I ask. He eyes me suspiciously. I see him searching for any signs of deceit. Maybe I lied to him and hid the chain from him. Maybe I pickpocketed him before he went to shower. But I didn’t do any of those things. I hold his eye contact this time. His brows soften ever so slightly. It seems to be enough.
 Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply grabs the chain from my hand. His fingers brush against my palm as he scoops it up. He examines it a moment before slipping it over his neck and tucking it under his shirt.
 I don’t know why but I was hoping for a thank you. Or at least an acknowledgment that I’d helped. But Ghost remains silent. At the same time, the voices reach the room. Roach and Gaz round the corner from the hallway.
 At their entrance, I turn back to my makeshift bed and pretend to sleep. It’s not that I don’t like them - although I don’t, in fact, I don’t like any of them - but I don’t have the energy for more questions from them tonight.
 I hear Ghost shift in his cot and it seems our thoughts are on the same track.
 As hard as I try, sleep doesn’t come. They shut off the main lights over an hour ago, yet I still haven’t calmed down enough to drift off. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop shivering from the cold.
 The warehouse remains utterly silent except for the light snores and breathing of the men. Only the emergency lights fill the corners of the room with dim, orange light. They’re almost comforting in a way.
 I pull the single blanket tighter around my shoulders and ball up even smaller if that’s possible, but nothing helps. My bones shake and my teeth rattle. If only I had another blanket.
 The cot next to me creaks as Ghost shifts in his sleep. It creaks some more and then I notice he’s sitting up.
 Ghost spares a glance in my direction as he rummages through his pocket for something.
 Something silver glints in the light and I realize it’s a key. He wordlessly tosses it in my direction and by some stroke of luck, I catch it mid-air.
 It’s the key to the cuffs. I spare an uneasy glance in his direction. He wants me to uncuff myself?
 Ghost doesn’t react. Instead, he watches as I process my thoughts, as I push through my weariness and unlock my ankles first before freeing my wrists.
 I reach to pass the key back to him but instead of grabbing the key, his large hand wraps completely around my wrist and tugs me in close.
 I’m face to face with him as his other hand wraps around my jaw so I can’t pull away.
 “If you try to run, I’ll kill you,” his low voice is barely above a whisper. The edge to his tone makes the threat feel all the more real.
 “Okay,” I nod in response. My heart is racing and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.
 “Come here. Bring your blanket,” he motions to the cot. I spare a glance at the narrow bed. Surely he doesn’t want to share it with me? There’s barely enough room for one person let alone two.
 “I don’t know,” I whisper back as though it’s an option. I don’t know where he’s going with this suggestion and I don’t think I trust him.
 “That’s an order, y/n,” his response does nothing to ease my soul, but I grab my blanket anyway and crawl onto the cot.
 It’s now he notices my hesitancy. How I purposely leave space between us on the bed. That I’m unsure of why he wants me up here. The fogginess of his intentions.
 “I can't sleep with the sound of your teeth rattling in my ears all night,” nothing changes in my expression so he tries again, his tone softer this time. “You’re safe, y/n. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen.”
 I sigh in relief but don’t say anything in response. He knows.
 “C’mere,” he lifts the blanket for me to slide in. The warmth immediately welcomes me into the space.
 The cot is more narrow than a twin mattress and leaves little to no wiggle room for two people. I’m pressed tightly into Ghost's chest as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer and preventing me from falling off.
 I thought I’d be tense but the heat under the blankets completely relaxes me. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. His balaclava is soft against my cheek. I hear his breathing pick start to pick up. I can feel his chest expand deeper than before.
 “Thank you,” my voice is barely audible, but I know he heard.
 As I adjust to our proximity, I breathe in the scents that linger on his skin and in his clothes. I can smell the same standard citrusy shampoo on him as myself and the rest of the crew use. But there’s also a remainder of smoke and gunpowder from the day’s work. There’s something else more unique to him and yet I can’t put my finger on it. I take a deep breath and allow myself to revel in the calming smells. This shouldn’t be comforting and yet it is.
 Nothing about this situation should be comforting and yet I feel safer than I have in weeks.
 Wrapped in Ghost's arms, I know nothing else in the world can get to me. My only danger is the man who holds me. Yet I know in this instance after he’s sacrificed his space and his bed for me, that I’ve got nothing to worry about.
 Ghost shifts against the canvas again. This time pulling me on top of him as he spreads out across his cot. He wraps his arms around my back he readjusts for the final time. I feel so small on top of him. Ghost spreads a hand out across my lower back and it feels as though it takes up the entire width of the space. His thumb soothingly brushes back and forth along the arch of my spine.
 I lay my head on his chest and listen to the thrum of his heart. It beats strong and steady like a bass drum. I feel myself relaxing even more as my breathing starts to match his. I feel myself start to drift as my head lulls with his chest when it rises and falls.
 For the first time in a long time, I don’t worry about what tomorrow brings. I’m so content in his arms that I don’t think about what’s next. All that fills my mind is the strength of his heartbeat and the distant scent of gunpowder. The last thing I think about before finally nodding off is the feeling of his thumb brushing up and down along my back, letting me know everything is going to be alright.
Edit+A/N: I have never received this much attention on a story before so thank you!! When I have time should I write more for Ghost?
Fic based on this concept:
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cogentranting · 2 years
Text
Rating Non-Disney Animated Horse Designs
I’m back by popular demand/well not really but my optimism’s grand
A sequel to my Disney horse Rating post for all the other random non-Disney horses. Dreamworks, Bluesky, random cartoons, anything I could find. Featuring: Altivo, Spirit, some Barbie horses, and a few abominations.
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Horse (Sing)
6/10 I don’t hate it and I feel like I should because it’s really hard to anthropomorphize horses that much without making them into the stuff of nightmares.
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Shadowfax (The Lord of the Rings) 
5/10 There’s nothing WRONG with him per se, but it’s SHADOWFAX. Lord of all horses. He should wow me, and he doesn’t. Check out Gandalf’s weird sock-boots though. 
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Hervé (Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper) 
-6/10 Horses' mouths don’t look like that. Horses’ mouths should not look like that. This thing wants to eat human flesh but can’t because it has two solid curved huge teeth with no physical  relationship with its jaw. Also this horse has the beginnings of male-pattern baldness. 
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Princess Brietta (Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus)
1/10 Her eyes are flat like they’ve been painted onto her socketless skull. And there’s something very off-putting about this shade of pink. 
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Beauty, Merry Legs, Ginger (Black Beauty) 
4/10 Ginger isn’t ginger. That is not a sorrel horse. There’s ONE requirement. Beauty’s the best of the three which is I guess what counts. 
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Hans, Klaus and Greta (Ferdinand) 
2/10 I hate them so much. The core design isn’t that bad but the way they move and pose is. No horse should make that face. The one on the left is stretched putty.
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The Grand Chawhee (All Dogs Go to Heaven)
I know what you’re thinking-- “isn’t that a mule or a donkey of some sort?” No. He’s a racehorse. Maybe a thoroughbred. And it’s his birthday so the other horses let him win. 
9/10
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Stella (All Dogs Go to Heaven)
1/10 She gets one point for being nice to Chawhee. But she’s clearly some sort of alien giraffe hybrid. 
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Odette’s horse (Swan Princess) 
7/10 Just a nice little palomino design.  
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That little shaggy pony (The Quest for Camelot)
12/10 Amazing. Look at the determination.
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Buck (Barnyard) 
2/10 See this is what that horse from Sing COULD have looked like. 
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The Horse in the Back, Not Klaus But I Couldn’t FInd a Better Picture (Klaus)
9/10 He matches his owner and I respect that
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Leah (The Star) 
4/10 This is horse is voiced by Kelly Clarkson. That has nothing to do with her rating, I just thought you should know. 
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(Starchaser: The Legend of Orin) 
8/10 for both. I have questions but I do not want answers. It’s better this way. 
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Fred (Over the Garden Wall)
7/10 don’t love that his head is a different color than his body in a weird way but he looks neurotic and fun. 
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The Chariot Horses (Prince of Egypt)
8/10 I’ve just always liked these guys with their square faces and fun hats. 
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Altivo (The Road to El Dorado)
7/10 Look at the little curl in his mane. Good personality. A little too much “Dreamworks Face” 
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Donkey in Horse Form (Shrek 2? one of the Shreks) 
3/10 Look at his face. I DREAD what he might have to say. 
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Esmeralda, Esperanza, Ernestina (Madgascar 3)
2/10 They’re coming for you. Coming to drag you into the Abyss. 
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Police Horse (Madagascar)
7/10 I like his face shape. Compare him to the Madgascar 3 horses-- look how much more identifiable as a horse he is. 
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Melvin (The Lorax)
10/10 He’s not a horse, but he’s so fluffy I love him. 
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Babieca (Puss in Boots)
4/10 This horse has dead eyes. 
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Onyx (Rise of the Guardians) 
13/10 She’s the leader of the nightmares and I would fully support her terrorizing the dreams of children. I’m pretty sure she and her mares ate the boogie man. A true Girlboss.
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Yi Min (Kung Fu Panda but I think just an online game) 
-20/10 Just from a design perspective there’s far too much going on so it’s hard to even make it all out. Also I would have zero idea that this was a horse if the wiki page didn’t tell me it was. It has split hooves? 
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Spirit Jr. (Spirit: Riding Free) 
8/10 Objectively I know the design is good  but my heart rebels against this show’s existence. 
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Boomerang Thomas Stone (Spirit: Riding Free) 
8/10 I’m not doing all the horses from this show but I had to throw him in because he’s cute and he has a middle and last name for some reason.
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Horse (Centaurworld) 
Why are there two distinctly different designs for her? This one gets a 9/10. The round one is like... a 5. All the other creatures in this show are eldritch abominations that will haunt me in my sleep now. 
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Esperanza and all the other horses from this movie (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron) 
10/10 No notes. Perfect horses. 
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Rain (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron) 
15/10 I don’t have a joke here I just really like the way they differentiated her and made her pretty without too much anthropomorphizing. I like that she has a roman nose.  I like her feather. 
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Spirit (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron)
100/10 He’s everything. He shaped me as a person. No other animated horse can compare. 
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aksm · 9 months
Text
Something something Zelda doesn't mind waiting. She waited a hundred years for Link to wake up and face the Calamity. She waited 10,000 years for Link to find her and the master sword to finally face off against Ganondorf.
She doesn't mind waiting because she knows how the story goes. She knows what kind of narrative she and Link are doomed by. She knows Link will prevail.
But she also knows the narrative isn't what she or Link want. She wants a safe Hyrule. She wants her hero knight to be free. She wants herself to be an explorer, a researcher, a scientist. Being a princess is something she's born into and therefore something she's duty-bound to. Same as Link being duty-bound to being her royal knight.
In those hundred years of waiting and those 10,000 years of waiting, she is content for Link to just... Be Link.
We all joke about how Link is goofing around Hyrule while the Calamity is looming and Zelda is waiting. About how and Ganondorf is gathering power in the depths while Zelda is missing and Link is building contraptions to bring koroks to their friends.
But this is Link. This is him when he's not duty-bound. I'm not saying he doesn't like being zelda's royal guard, but his essence isn't just that. He's just a guy who likes to go around helping people. That stable woman needs a horse and horse cart? Sure, he'll use his new powers to get her sorted out. That man fell down the well (in lego city) and needs help fixing the ladder to climb back up? Yeah, Link's on it. Oh, you need help building this town into something so, so beautiful where everyone from all walks of life can come and meld their cultures together and live in a diverse sort of harmony? Link's your man to see your vision come true.
Link loves his role in Hyrule. As a helper. A wandering hero. As a guy who roams and cooks and tames wild horses and gets rid of monsters and helps anyone and everyone even if they're obviously disguised yiga clan members.
So of course Zelda would want nothing but for him to enjoy his little wonders. This transient moment that had been carved for him to be free. Sure, there is doom looming over him and Hyrule. But he's still fulfilling his promise. He's still protecting them all in his own small way. He's still Link. Just unburdened.
And now that Zelda truly understands the fuckery of time and fate and everything, she doesn't mind waiting. She can wait as long as Link needs to be free. She will roam the skies unbothered and unthinking and in her immortal, unaware state until Link is ready. Until Link needs her.
Until then she's content with waiting.
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gremlingottoosilly · 5 days
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kidnapper!Konig with a reader whos head over heels for him even tho hes been nothing but mean to her :( but then she growns on him so he finally gives in and cuddles with her one night
Konig, who is still conflicted about this whole kidnapping, is a girlfriend thingy. He hates how he has to resort to such matters as if he can't get a girlfriend without her being deadly terrified of him - he genuinely thinks he deserves to have a pretty girl fawn all over him simply because he is soooo cool and great in his imagination...it's obviously not right - but then again, not like you have any options. Your kidnapper is grumpy and always angry, but he doesn't force anything on you. Konig gets annoyed when you do not clean yourself, refuse to change clothes or abandon your food - and he has very strict discipline regarding these things. You will be fed forcefully; he will push food past your lips and force you to eat as much as you can - and then he will drag you up to his bathroom so he can spend tens of minutes washing you like a grumpy puppy, ignoring any of your attempts to fight. You shouldn't be like this, he thinks - clearly, there is a problem in your attitude, and he is willing to force you to like him. To tolerate him, at least. But...you don't really fight him. If anything, you're following him like a lost puppy and crave his attention - this is something that he is supposed to love but, somehow, he just...just doesn't trust you. Doesn't believe you nearly enough. You act suspicious to him and he doesn't want to get burned - so, he will not answer your pathetic attempts at taking initiative, and he will never allow you outside without him...but even grumpy men like him are getting softer with time. Even guys like Konig know that they shouldn't look a gifted horse in the mouth - he doesn't trust you and thinks this is all just a ploy to get him to set you free, but it's nice to have a loving girlfriend. He hugs you, he allows you to sleep with him sometimes - when you're tied up, of course. He will just drag your sleepy form into his bed one night, refusing to acknowledge it...but of course, you cling to him.
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garrison-girl-08 · 2 months
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Love, Honour, Disobey
Pairing- Thomas Shelby and Reader
Part 3- (More Here)
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You spent the day hiding in your room. Polly was right, you couldn’t have the children seeing you like this. How would you explain it? All afternoon, you had heard your youngest Sadie asking for her Mama. She had only just turned one, and was very attached to you.
Isabella was a Daddy’s girl, well she usually was. Apart from last night, when he had scared her. And your eldest Thomas, he was a free spirit. Quite happy, playing outside, climbing trees. Helping with the horses. No matter how cold it was.
You would have to leave the room at some point…but what could you say to them?
“Wake up!” Tommy heard the stern voice of his Aunt. As she kicked his leg, “Now!” When he groaned, she grabbed hold of his collar, pulling him into an upright position. Picking up the glass of water on his desk, she threw it over him.
Gasping for air, Tommy sat up, hands shaking. "What the fuck, Pol?" he snapped, finally opening his eyes. Only his Aunt, would have the balls to do that to him. Grabbing his collar again, she used all of her strength to throw him onto the floor.
“I have never …. Ever…. Been so ashamed of you! Thomas Michael Shelby!” She snarled through gritted teeth.
Frowning, he shook his head trying to understand what was going on. Wiping the water away from his eyes, his vision blurry, head pounding like a drum.
“That girl deserves better than you. If she ups and leaves over this, it’s your fault. And your fault alone!” Turning on her heel, she strutted out of the office. Slamming the front door.
“Mr Shelby?” He heard, seeing Frances hovering nervously. How many times, had the poor maid seen him like this? He had lost count.
“Come,” he answered, pulling himself back into his chair. So confused, how long had he been asleep?
“Miss Sadie is asking for her Mummy. What shall I do Mr Shelby? Only Mrs Grey said… keep her away,” she confessed, not wanting to get involved in your domestic. "To keep the children away,"
“Away?” He repeated, now standing up. Shit... Tommy... get it together. “Just watch the kids, ey. I will go and see Y/n,”
Dragging himself up the large staircase, Tommy had little recollection of the night before. He remembered arguing with you, Mosley! That was it, you had been to see Mosley. Why the fuck had you done that?
Polly was angry with him over something. So, he had obviously pissed you off. She always took your side anyway. It was nothing new.
About to open the door of your shared room, he glanced at his hands. Noticing how much they were shaking. Shit, he needed to ease of the opium. Entering the room, he could see you sitting at your dressing table. Still dressed in your nightclothes, despite the time of day.
Sensing his presence, you stiffened. "Go away, Tommy. I don't want to hear it,"
He noticed the shake in your voice. Dabbing your eyes, you kept your head bowed. Not wanting to look at him. "Please, I can't do this now,"
"Sadie is asking for you," he breathed out, bending down next to you. His body was aching, clothes soaking from where Polly had thrown water onto him.
"What do you want me to do?" you snapped, finally turning to look at him.
Looking at your face, Tommy's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't breathe, what the fuck? Your face was swollen, and badly bruised. Marks on your neck, eyes red from crying.
“Y/n... what's... it.... er..." stumbling back, he landed on his backside. Trying to grip onto something. "What? How?"
Keep the children away, rang through his head.
"Did he do that? Mosley? Ey?" his adrenaline was pumping. How had he allowed this to happen? "I wanted you away from him, I will kill him over this,"
Quickly standing, you held onto the dresser for support. Head spinning. "You did it Tommy!!!" You screamed, "It was you!"
Jumping up, he quickly moved towards you. Trying to reach for you, trying to take your hand. No…. He couldn’t have done that…. Not to his own wife, his beautiful wife. He loved you.
“Get away from me!” You screamed, at the top of your voice, physically shaking. Terrified, scared of your own husband. Scared to be alone with him.
“Y/n…” he paused, holding his hands up. “I … I .. would never… I,” Sinking to the floor, he tried to rack his brains to remember.
What the hell had happened?
"You would never!" you vented back, "You don't know what you are like, Tommy. I let things slide, that shit you take."
Holding back a sob, you looked at him with hatred. "You turn into someone else, how many times have you crawled into bed with me? Woke me up, like you were fucking someone else. You can't even fucking remember,"
Blinking, he frowned up at you, running his hands through his wet hair.
"Y/n... I... I'm sorry, did I.... did I really? Do that?"
Sinking onto the bed, you felt like you could sleep for a week. "You were so angry with me, I was so scared Tommy. I shouldn't be scared of my own husband, I can't have you here. Near me, near the children,"
"The ... the children, Y/n, I would never, I, I didn't," his mind was trying to catch up, to the words that you were saying. Feeling physically sick at his own actions.
"You are an addict Tommy!" you warned him, taking a step closer.
“You terrified Bella last night, are you going to push her over too?" You couldn't stop now you had started, he needed to hear this. "Or if Sadie cries, are you going to grab hold of her? And shake her? Shake her like a rag doll?”
You pointed at your arms, the deep fingerprints now visible to him.
"No..." he whispered, "No.. no... no..." holding his head in his hands, he mumbled.
Talking, but not making any sense. Breaking down in tears, shoulders shaking from his sobs. Rocking back and forward, on his knees.
“No ….no…” he kept whispering, hands moving to his hair as he began to pull.
“I can’t….I can’t breathe…” he choked out, pulling at his collar. “I can’t breathe,”
Watching in horror, your husband falling to his side. Clutching at his chest. Struggling to catch his breath. This man, this strong family man, your husband, the father of your children.
Now reduced to this…
“He… help,” he begged, as you couldn’t move.
Trying to keep your head low, you walked along the corridor of the hospital. Heading back, towards your husband's room. Blinders tipping their hats to you, as they stood on guard. Two days, Tommy had been in here. Thinking he was having a heart attack, you had panicked and called an ambulance.
A panic attack, it had turned out to be.
But, he was ill, you knew that much. He needed help, mentally as well as physically. He need rehab, to stop taking the drugs, stop the drinking. Sort his head out.
His family needed him, you need him.
You couldn't help but feel guilty. It was your visit to Mosely, that had started this. That was no excuse for Tommy's behaviour, you knew that. You just thought you could handle it. Prove something to Tommy, maybe?
That you were not just a wife, and a mother, that you were still your own person.
Flashback
Walking ahead, he gestured for you to follow. "And how shall that happen, Mrs Shelby?" Mr Mosley asked, a smirk on his face. Oh this man was sued to women bowing down to him. No doubt, falling to their knees for him. Not having a choice.
But you did...
You were not going to give yourself, for the sake of business. You were a married woman, you loved your husband. Nothing, and no one was going to come between you. Especially this creep.
"As I have stated Mr Mosely, I am a married woman. I am aware of what you are insinuating. And the answer is no." you warned, edging closer.
Mosely visibly gasped, shocked from being turned down.
"As you wish, Mrs Shelby. Leave the contract with me, I shall have to look it over again. I bid you goodnight," As you handed him the contract, he kissed your hand, before walking away.
Climbing into your waiting car, you let out a long breath of relief. Vowing, never to put yourself in danger again. You had your children to think of.
Note-
Is that how we thought it would go with Mosely?
Should she forgive Tommy?
Tags-@kaybeeboop @cloudofdisney @romanogersendgame @loveableasshole @goldensunflowe-r @captivatedbycillianmurphy @namelesslosers @lauren-raines-x @kathrinemelissa @datewithgianni@geminiwolves @lyarr24 @ysmmsy@mysticaldeanvoidhorse @dolllol2405 @fictionaldemon @padfootdaredmetoo @cheekybluefox @stevie75 @breely1284 @american-sataness @blyanyan @peaky-cillian @cevans-winchester @shadow-hunters-lover @look-at-the-soul@livelifewondering @duckybird101 @watercolorskyy @lespendy @raychhh @dressedinpoetrysblog @cillmequick @everyonesawhore @castellandiangelo @midnightmagpiemama @thenattitude @forgottenpeakywriter @elenavampire21 @cljordan-imperium @peakyscillian @pono-pura-vida @already-broken144 @muhahaha303 @kmc1989 @lilorphanann @amberpanda99 @bernelflo @trixie23 @cilloak @globetrotter28@in0320 @laylasbunbunny @lau219 @surfin-the-sun @fiokw @stilestotherescue @girlwith-thepearlearring @crispynutella @blondie-22 @brummiereader @mrsnshelby88@blvebanisters @snowtargaryen @shelbybabysblog @cyphah @bruher @neonpurplestars89-blog @abaker74   @myaa21212121 @brebae501
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verstappen-cult · 3 months
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ouuu, imagine getting a new pet with the f1 grid! like, whether it be just recently moving in together and wanting a new addition or whether it be just a small present, your choice ofc! 💖
GETTING A NEW PET WITH THE BOYS | F1 GRID
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★ — LANDO NORRIS (4)
one day you came home only to find lando laying on the floor with a tiny cat sitting on his chest, talking so soft as if he was speaking to a child, hands caressing behind his little ears. “hey, i got you a present!” he was lot more excited than you, and you were the one that actually wanted to adopt a cat. you named her with a little bit of help from lando, and soon became a crucial part in both your lives. every time lando is away, which is most of the time, he’s always asking for pics of his two girls. you’re pretty sure he loves the cat more than he loves you. and vice–versa.
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★ — CHARLES LECLERC (16)
it was always a plan. even when you had been dating for just a couple of weeks, you two always wanted to have a dog together. and that’s why the moment you move in together, you go to one of the shelters in the city to adopt one. it’s hard. there are so many dogs waiting for someone to take them home that it is impossible for you to not cry. eventually you take home a little one that kept following charles everywhere he went, and the moment the dog starts running and sniffing everything, making you both laugh, you know he’s the perfect addition to your life.
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★ — OSCAR PIASTRI (81)
oscar knows you grew up with a lot of dogs and cats, and that you miss them every day. he also knows you are pretty happy living with him and traveling when you can, but living away from family is hard. it’s no secret that you are the most important person in his life and he will always want you to be happy; that is why one day you wake up with a slight pressure on your chest and two big brown eyes looking at you. you’re very sure everyone in the building heard your scream when you realized it was a rabbit. oscar had the biggest smile on his face, and felt like a very proud boyfriend, as he saw you play with him.
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★ — MAX VERSTAPPEN (33/1)
you and max weren’t looking to adopt a new cat, you really were more than happy and done with jimmy and sassy. but then one day you’re walking back to your hotel after lunch and next thing you know, you are inside a pet shop. you were just thinking about getting the cats new toys and maybe a cat tree when you saw her sitting at the counter, looking so soft and tiny. when max went to pay, the owner told you she was a stray cat and the rest was history. there was a lot of paperwork to be able to get her out of the city and back to your home, but it was all worth it.
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★ — ALEX ALBON (23)
you’re always looking to adopt new pets. or members of the family as alex likes to call them. you know who you’re dating, so it’s all part of the relationship. not that it bothers you; you’re really happy with the zoo you have at home. the newest addition is a little more big than the rest of the pets, and it doesn’t surprise you, nothing does with alex anymore. and you always wanted a horse growing up, it’s a win for everyone. every time alex has free time you’re traveling to visit alex’s parents where the horse lives and it’s hard when you have to say goodbye but you know alex is already looking to adopt a new cat, or a dog, or another horse, and that makes it a little easier.
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★ — DANIEL RICCIARDO (3)
daniel just comes home holding a guinea pig one day and you don’t even question him. he said he found it near the park where he went to run and couldn’t leave it there. just like that you got a new pet. neither of you had a guinea pig before so you don’t really know how to take care of him. or her? so the next morning you take the little one to the vet and then to a pet shop where you buy everything you’re going to need. and some other things that aren’t necessary but daniel saw and fell in love. if you had to drag him out of there before he brought a fish, well, that’s no one’s business.
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★ — MICK SCHUMACHER (47)
you were cuddling on the couch, mick with the most awful cold ever known to men when you got a call from her mom, and before she even got to say hi your boyfriend was already asking for the family dog. it was so cute seeing him say how much he missed him and how he wished he could be there to cuddle and feel better (rude!); that was the exact moment you knew what to do. it was a little hard trying to find a shelter, and then complete the form and interview they asked for, but in just a couple of days you were standing in front of a blanket-covered and almost crying mick cuddling with his new dog.
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© VERSTAPPEN-CULT ⎯ do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.
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kuroosimpurou · 12 days
Text
In which Astarion goes too far
Warnings: fighting and angst
Astarion x reader
Tav hadn't ever had a real relationship. It had made things even more difficult for they and Astarion to form one. But the two of them were working through it, slowly but surely. A big problem was Tav didn't know how to ask for what they want from Astarion, not that he was much better about that. However, Astarion was good at reading them. Like now, when it was written all over their face that they were jealous.
Astarion was going to have fun with this. Halsin was the culprit of it all, the sexy brute. Astarion had been terrified when the druid had propositioned his lover, but the knowledge that Tav wanted him and only him had truly emboldened Astarion. He was back to his annoying and flirty self now that he knew where he and Tav's loyalties lied. None of their other exceptionally horny companions would come in the way of that. That didn't mean Astarion couldn't tease and taunt them with it, like dangling a carrot in front of a starving horse. All good honest fun.
Except now his teasing touches and flirty eyes towards Halsin was being seen by Tav. Tav who looked ready to bite off the man's head. If looks could kill as they say.
Astarion leaned in a little too close to hear whatever the Hells Halsin was saying, and Tav's entire demeanor shifted. They looked liked a kicked puppy seconds away from tears. That made Astarion jerk back from Halsin. This wasn't supposed to genuinely upset them. Astarion was just hoping for a little bit of possessiveness and rough making out in their tent.
He left Halsin mid-sentence, who at first felt slighted but understood when he saw Astarion was going to his lover. He wished them the best despite his own desires for them both.
Tav had turned away and was about to isolate themself in their tent when a cold but familiar hand wrapped around their wrist. They sighed, not particularly wanting to see Astarion after seeing that he didn't seem fully satisfied with their relationship status.
The two had only explicitly said that Tav wouldn't sleep with anyone else, they had assumed that extended to Astarion as well but that now seemed foolishly naive.
Astarion felt internal panic as Tav shifted away from him. Had he pushed them too far?
"Darling, I-" he began purposefully putting more honey into his words than normal, but cut himself off when he saw just how truly distressed they were once they faced him fully.
Tav was trying to put on a brave face, but despair was in their eyes.
"I did not mean to hurt you, I was just having fun," Astarion dropped all pretense of performance from his voice. That was getting easier and easier to do with Tav.
Tav shrugged off his almost-apology, not wanting to be a burden.
"You are free to discover your sexuality however you choose, gods know you deserve it. I just wish you would tell me whenever you find comfort in others, I-," Tav hesitated, worried they were asking too much of him.
But Astarion cut them off, "Find comfort in others? You think I genuinely wanted to sleep with Halsin?"
Astarion says that sentence a bit too loud, his offense overriding his desire to keep his relationship more private.
Tav shrugged again and mumbled, "It sure looked like it back there."
At this, Astarion scoffed making Tav's blood boil. He couldn't take their relationship seriously for five minutes. They were just trying to have a real and honest conversation with him and he was mocking them.
Tav yanked their hand out of his wrist, "Fine, do what you want with whoever you do actually want. At least do me the curtesy of telling me before doing it right in front of my face."
Astarion reared back at the venom in their voice. He knew this was his own doing, but the worst part of him wanted to fight back. He'd never been able to fight back before.
So he threw his hands up and yelled, "Well darling, don't be surprised then when I make my way through our plethora of eligible companions. You're not the only one in high demand."
His insecurity about everyone wanting Tav came in at the end and he regretted showing that weakness in the moment.
Tears started to truly fall down Tav's cheeks at his words and he immediately wanted to take everything back. But they didn't give him the chance, they just turned away and retreated to their tent. It is in this moment that Astarion realized everyone was looking at them. None of these assholes had any sense of privacy or minding their own fucking business. With nothing else to do that would save his dignity, he simply sneered at them and stalked off into the woods. He hadn't put his tent up in the assumption he would spend the night in his lover's tent but he'd gone and royally fucked that up.
Astarion was no stranger to screwing up a romantic interaction but this one was the worst. Sure, there was no vampiric master to punish him when he went home empty handed, but he had hurt someone he loved. The first someone he ever truly loved. Hells, he half-heartedly thought, I'd rather take a night of torture than this guilt.
His heart is hurting and this pain isn't something he has ever felt before. He'd gotten attached to certain marks and felt the weight of their deaths on his conscience. But this, this was different. Tav wasn't going to meet a gruesome death, but he'd broken their heart entirely of his own volition. He was no longer a puppet and with this new autonomy he just lashes out at the one person who'd cared for him. He was as bad as Cazador always said he was.
A rustling behind him alerts Astarion that he is no longer alone in the clearing he'd found to sulk in. Of course it is Tav coming to check on him. They were always thinking of him and his wellbeing. And he went and threw that love away.
"Star, please come to bed. It's not safe out here," their voice was soft and pleading.
"You want me to come to your tent after that fight?" He scoffed, self-loathing coating his tongue.
Tav approached him slowly as if he were a wounded animal. Anger reared up in his chest as he felt pitied, but then he saw their eyes. They were just as kind and loving as always. There was hurt, yes, but the love hadn't left. They still cared about him.
"How can you love me?" The words came out coarse and desperate as he bit back a sob.
That made Tav stop, and his body screamed for them to come closer.
They tilted their head and looked him up and down before saying, "I just do."
He laughed, light and fleeting, "You just do? Well, I suppose that is really all that matters then darling. Come here please."
He held out his hand to Tav, which they gladly took and allowed themself to be pulled into his embrace. Astarion melted into the kiss, his arms completely engulfing his love. His love. He ought to tell them he loved them.
"I love you as well. I am sorry for my outburst. The way I spoke to you," he paused, shame overtaking him, "it was deplorable and wrong. I don't want anyone else in my bed but you. Ever."
Tav sighed and released a mountain of tension from their shoulders. They became putty in his arms.
"I know, I'm sorry for being childish and petty rather than just expressing that I want us both to be exclusively each other's," their voice was muffled as they snuggled into his neck.
Astarion sighed back, happily, "I want that too."
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