#fic prompt game | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bibliophile221b · 2 months

Text

A treeline promise: part 2 — [18+MDNI!!]

summary: tension was at its peak after the battle at Burning Hill. In order to restore peace across the Riverlands, a feast has been hosted by your father. When the newly-anointed Lord Blackwood learns about your publicly announced betrothal, things turn sideways… // part 1

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Fem!Bracken!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: angst, enemies to lovers, mentions of blood, dirty talk, swear words, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), (slight) breeding kink, religious aspects, Benji’s a tease, your dad kinda dislikes u, my first language isn’t English…

The wind howled through the castle walls, and harsh rain cried upon your windows. You watched as the trees below danced with the wind, trying to keep up with its rhythm. How long had it been since you left your chambers? Since you’d seen anything other than the same fireplace, the same books, the same stone walls that entrapped you from the outside world.

If you had to blame anyone for your current situation, it would have to be yourself. If you could take it all back, you would.

The sight and smell of battle were still as present and persistent in your mind as ever. The bodies of the dead lingered in your thoughts, haunting you still. How naive you were, believing it to be victorious to fight in the midst of battle, and how terribly wrong you were.

At dawn, you had managed to sneak yourself into a cart with your father’s soldiers. Dressed as a boy, you had taken your sword with you, apt to give up your life for your House. You had been prepared, but as soon as the clash breathed a beginning, it felt as though you were in all of the Seven Hells at once. You slew two men, but soon as the aftermath had hit, there was nothing you could take pride in.

The fight had been pointless, unnecessary, and cruel. Too many lives wasted for a king or queen that would never give up their own for theirs. As this realization dawned on you, paranoia took over your mind, and all it could fixate on was that one person. You had searched around you, over the muddied, bloody cadavers that were piling up over the grassland; all in an attempt to find him.

You needed to find him alive, you had thought, stumbling over people, fallen swords, and all the things you couldn’t reminisce before fortuitously facing your father mid-fight. You can still recall the pure fury in his eyes. It was only after the battle that you faced a truth much worse: your brother, Amos, had been killed. The ride home with your father had been tormenting.

Unable to grieve, you endured your father's relentless anger—a reaction not to the loss of his son, but to finding you on the battlefield; his griefless facade never slipped. All you wanted to do was mourn your brother, and when you expressed this at last, all your father could say was, “And so you will, but not in the sight of mine,” and thus, you had been locked up in your bedchamber ever since. Even so, today would make a difference to your solitude.

After the battle at Burning Hill, tension had risen in the Riverlands. The uncle of the one who sits the throne, Daemon Targaryen, part of the blacks, had left your father no choice but to bend the knee to his niece Rhaenyra Targaryen. Moreover, he had compelled the numerous houses of the Riverlands to fuse together, to become each other’s allies rather than enemies. Your father, aware of your aversion to marriage, had thought of the idea fondly and betrothed you to some Tully lad you had yet to meet.

It was on this sorrowing day that you were to meet your future husband, your other half. Your father had hosted a feast for all Houses in the Riverlands. Today, the announcement would be made, and your father would proudly declare how he sold you to the highest bidder, a decision in which you undeniably had no say in.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on your door. "My lady, you’re late. Your father is waiting for you," Alice, your housemaid, insisted. You nodded and rose from your seat by the window, smoothing your dress straight. Before leaving the room, you felt as if you were leaving a part of yourself behind. When you return to your chambers tonight, you will be promised to a man you didn’t even know. All you will be known for is being his wife. This night a part of you will cease to exist, you just wished someone had known you for more than that, but time was nearing its hour. "It is better to believe I wasn’t someone else before," you thought, closing the door behind you.

The halls of Stone Hedge were filled to the brim with people. Knights, Ladies, Lords and all the people who held titles were scattered across the room. You noticed some of the sigils; House Tully, House Butterwell, House Mootoon of Maidenpool, House Frey- you were overwhelmed with the mixture of noise from the crowd and music blasting from every corner.

You walked through the room, seeking your seat by one of the grand tables set against the walls of the hall. You noticed your father speaking to a Lady you didn’t know, who sat disconcertingly close to the right of him. The table was packed, but a seat had been reserved for you. It was only when you took your place that you realized the table where the noblest of your House sat was shared with another particular House.

House Blackwood.

Your heart started racing. Melded emotions of anticipation and fear overcame you. You casted your eyes across the table, seeking someone or something, but the attempt was ill-fated. You were breathing heavily, clutching your dress by your knees, trying to collect yourself- and, after some time, you did. A cup of ale or two made the food before you start to looking delicious and the music around you kissed your ears rather than harrowing them.

Despite your father’s calling, he refused to recognize your presence, leaving you to fend for yourself whilst an hour passed by. You kept to yourself mostly, avoiding locking eyes with the guests sitting close to you. You were the only one of your family on this side of the table, feeling in your gut that it was a decision made on your father’s part.

Your thoughts got interrupted yet again that evening, but this time by the announcement of your father. “Good evening, everyone, how appreciative I am to be the host of today’s feast,” he started, keeping a cup in hand, silencing the crowd. “Today marks a special day in the near history of the Riverlands as we share the table with all Houses and see each other as equals, at last. All of us have lost loved ones in wars between our Houses, and so we shall know sorrow, but let us, at the very least, bond through grief, lest gaining nil from our suffering.”

When you looked up from the table, you saw your father’s eyes water slightly. His eyes gleaming in the light of the chandeliers. The sight somewhat warmed you, knowing your father grieved his son, even in his own silent, troubled way. “Certainly affiliations can be developed in many other ways, for instance, through marriage-“ as his eyes caught yours. “Therefore my House will fuse with House Tully through a betrothal between my daughter and the eldest son of Lord Elmo Tully,” with that he raised his cup, earning loud cheers and hoorays throughout the room.

His proclamation seemed to have been a sign for many to retrieve to the floor. Amongst you, Lords asked Ladies from different Houses than their own for a dance. Regardless of the fact that it truly felt nice to see clarity after such dark times, your misfortunate fate still hung in the back of your mind. As you returned to your plate, you were at least relieved to find your side of the table almost completely empty, which made you feel more at comfort and less agitated than before. However, you only got a small taste of comfort before it became interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind you.

You turned and locked eyes with a black-haired man; looking into those dark brown eyes that appeared amber in the luminance of the room. You could never forget them even if you wanted to, neither could you his smug face that was quite literally looking down at you as of now. “Please, don’t let me interrupt you getting your melancholy all over your dish,” he chuckled. “You look like shit”.

“Can’t you just leave me alone? I think about you enough as it is,” you admitted, earning a smirk from him. “Daydreaming about me, are we?” he purred, offering himself a seat next to you. “Yeah right,” you scoffed. “Any thought or word I hear about you is another second too many I’ve come to waste of my time, so don’t delude yourself.” You poured yourself some more ale, even though you hated the taste of it. If enough of it could cure you to forget about this night, then so be it. You chugged the liquid and wiped the remnants of it off of your lips.

Benji looked at you with a hint of concern, but you didn’t take note of it as he poured himself a drink as well. “I’d ask if you cared for a dance, but I’m still sore from battle, something you luckily don’t have to worry about,” he teased. “A dance? Have you grown soft on me or has the fight given you brain damage?” you grinned. “Oh, you wish-“ he laughed sarcastically, clutching his stomach. “I’m afraid you’ll have to keep praying to your Gods for my ruin.” “They’re in the process, so beware,” you replied, hitting him against his chest. “Besides, believe it to be true or not, I was also present at battle. I have yet to experience any soreness from it, so I believe it to be an issue on your part.”

You noticed his smile dropping slightly by your last remark, but you thought nothing of it forthwith as you turned around to witness the dance. You saw your father dancing with the same Lady he had been previously speaking to. Her hair was golden, a striking contrast to your late mother’s. Inside you, a sense of one-sided tension brewed, though you tried to ignore it, clutching your cup tightly in your hands. Benji noticed it and you felt his eyes boring into your every movement.

“How’ve you been? I didn’t hear from you since-“ “Since when?” you broke him off, facing him. He was taken aback and frowned his eyebrows, “I don’t know, such as after Burning Hill perhaps?” The name of the battle hit your heart like a knife. Everyone in Stone Hedge avoided the name like a plague, merely referring to it like a ransom battle, a nothing fight, ignoring the catastrophe that it was. “What the hell were you thinking when you decided to show up?” he cursed, raising his voice slightly. “I wasn’t,” you admitted irritated. You looked away from him in an endeavour to make the conversation come to an end.

“What’s going on with you?” he whispered, leaning into you and begging for a somewhat decent answer before the two of you got interrupted. “Lady Bracken,” a voice chimed in. You looked up to see Kermit Tully, your betrothed, in front of you offering a hand. His auburn hair had been neatly brushed back, and his raiments were fit for a man of his status, showing everyone his place high up in the hierarchy between your Houses. His blue eyes caught yours. “May I have this dance?” Even though a pit was forming in your stomach, your face beamed with delight. “Of course, ser.” You graciously took his hand, turning a blind eye to Benji along the way, and let your partner lead you to the floor.

A hand traced down to halt at your waist, while his other hand let go of yours, hovering slightly in front of yours as you mirrored his movements. As you moved your feet alongside his to the rhythm of the music, you noticed Benji remaining at the table, watching the two of you. His jaw was clenched tightly, reflecting his vexation as you moved closer to your betrothed. For the rest of the dance, and the dances thereafter, you paid no mind to him. He was the past, if there had ever been one. You hated him; you always had. The feeling was mutual, and that was all you needed to remember.

When time had passed the twelfth twice, you excused yourself to get some clear air. You felt quite drowsy and drained, despite your good time with ser Tully. He was kind and seemed to care about whatever was on your mind. You were at least glad that he was better than your horrid expectations. You entered a hall past where the feast was being held, when a housemaid greeted you. “Lady Bracken,” she said as she nodded to you. You returned the nod before she greeted another, “Lord Blackwood,” she bowed slightly. Blackwood.

You turned around and faced Benji again. “Seven Hells—are you following me?” you exclaimed. “I was headed to the gardens,” he remarked, “these halls are quite general. Figured you’d be the one knowing that as common sense.” He walked past you, brushing his arm slightly against yours. “And what business do you have in the gardens, may I ask?” You followed him as it was the same route to your chambers, nevertheless. He sighed lightly, his irritability showing as clear as day. “A Lord’s business isn’t that of a Lady’s now, is it?”

The corridors were silent aside from the breeze of the harsh wind forecourt. You grabbed his arm, trying to keep him from ongoing his pace, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He effortlessly tugged your hand from his arm and met your eyes. “You’re a Lady now, correct?” he said, his voice edged with ire. “I believe that Lady’s aren’t expected to be found together in the presence of a Lord, all alone, especially near nighttime,” he shot his head in the direction of the hall where the feast was being held, “what imagination might overcome the guests if only they knew?”

“I don’t trouble myself with thoughts of what others might think, especially the guests” you snickered. He looked at you, narrowing his eyes, as if you were an enigma that needed deciphering, before laughing it off, “You go from an aspirant knight to a betrothed Lady, and I’m ostensibly supposed to find any reason for that change of heart?” Your smile quickly faded. “Some people can’t permit themselves to let their heart guide their actions,” you said sternly.

“What has gotten into you? Seriously?” he snapped, “Since when do you bow down to be society’s pawn?” His sudden change in demeanour from earlier in the evening stunned you, the dimly lit hall capable of imaging the hostility in his voice perfectly. “A stitch in time saves nine,” you disclosed. He let out a sardonic laugh, stained with disbelief. “A marriage- a fucking marriage of convenience. That’s what you settled for?” You stood your ground, though conveying pure astonishment.

“That’s all there was in my reach; I couldn’t settle for more,” you persisted, “Therewithal he’s kind, he’s good-” you argued. “You don’t love him. That marriage will be worthless-” he swore, casting his eyes to the heavens. “How do you know I don’t love him?” you interrupted him, your blood boiling. He always knew precisely how to push your buttons.

“Because I know you. You cannot keep up this pretence for much longer-” he condemned, raising his voice. His brows knitted together, his frustration bleeding through them. “Why do you even care?” you shot back at him as you deflected your eyes away from him. “I-” he tried, but his words were in vain as you interrupted him by a whisper, “I thought you were dead.” His silence synced with your mind, leaving your heart stark. “I looked for you everywhere, I heard nothing from you and couldn’t get a word out of anyone even if I begged them to-” you continued, “I thought you were dead and you couldn’t care less if I knew you were alive, so please do enlighten me how I’m supposed to know that you care for me when today is the first day I’ve seen you since-” You stopped before you could finish your sentence, with heartache overcoming you.

His gaze softened, though his lips tightened into a thin line, his scar faint. “I sent word for you. Ever since,” he said. “I believed you weren’t eager to return a letter, so I let it be.” He moved closer to you, narrowing the space between you. “When it comes to you, I will always comply. Whatever you wish, I will abide by.” You looked at him perplexed, “Whatever do you mean?” “To hell with Tully,” he said, his gaze filled with momentum, “leave tonight with me.”

Confounded was a belittlement to describe your riposte at that moment. “Are you at your wit’s end?” you exclaimed. “You have no reason to pursue this marriage if you go with me. I’m a Lord, whereas that Tully lad is nothing more than a cunt with a stick too far up his arse,” he pressed. “I have a life here, a duty,” you persisted. “Seven Hells— you always think the entire world can be stopped if only you utter a word.” “Quit changing the subject and pretending there’s nothing between us,” he said at last, frustration painted across his face, his poise a sharp contrast to yours.

You narrowed your eyes, “Can you no longer reconcile our past? I don’t like you, I never fucking did, and neither did you. That’s what’s between us,” you said. He took a step towards you, your movements countering his. “You’re a fool if you still believe that either of us adheres to that,” he said before leaning in. Your back pressed against the unforgiving cobblestone wall behind you, its freezing touch sending a shiver down your spine. Eyes closed, your heart raced, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. His lips hovered before yours, a silent plea filling the space between your breaths. “I want you to say it”.

You opened your eyes, meeting his, the brown ablaze.

“I’ve always-”

Hated you.

“hated you” you thought, but you couldn’t bear to say it aloud. It was too strong a word and not fitting evermore. Something held you back, the words remaining in your mind, burning into your soul- why couldn’t you just say it?

As one with the words, he waited and could only look into your eyes, waiting for the end of the sentence, waiting for the kill, but it never came. Your blade never stroked his throat, his sword never caressed your side. Blood never did spill; the tiles beneath never got a taste of either of you.

Breaking the silence, he leaned in, pulling you into a hungry kiss, as if compelled by an overwhelming need. Your hands roamed over his body, craving his touch, while his tongue explored your mouth, making you feel whole and completely intoxicated. Your fingers ran through his hair, gripping it slightly and earning a moan from him. Your body felt as if it were held above a stove, burning from the inside out. You broke away from the kiss, breathing heavily. “We can’t—I’m betrothed, it’s a sin,” you said, your words no more than a whisper.

"I do not care," he breathed. "I do not need the favour of the old Gods nor the new. I am your devotee. I'll face anything sacred; I'll walk through all the Seven Hells if that meant the Stranger could grant me another day with you. I’ll yield my soul if I could receive the blessing of the Mother for both of us; I’d beg forgiveness of the old Gods, so that the feud between our Houses is no longer and our blood can be seen as one.” His teary eyes begged for a response, but you were aghast, your words stuck in your throat, betraying the essence of your heart. “I lay myself bare for you. It’s your choice,” he whispered.

This time, you were the one who leaned into him, pulling him into a carnal kiss. Dizziness spread across your mind like a virus, turning you impulsive, leading him into a nearby room and latching onto him again as soon as the door closed. All you both could manage were sloppy kisses, whilst yearning for more. His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him. He grinded his hips against yours, seeking any friction between you until he kissed your neck and trailed down your body, halting before your waist. He pulled up your dress, inciting your heat, kneading your thighs. “Let me worship you the way you deserve”, he whispered before unveiling your core and placing a soft kiss on it, sending shivers throughout your whole body.

His eyes glowed in the moonlit darkness of the room as he locked onto yours, maintaining eye contact while his tongue traced a slow path from your entrance to your clit, teasing and savouring every moment before enveloping you completely. Each motion was relentless, fuelling your senses and stirring a rhapsody within. His touch was irresistible, his gaze captivated by you as his moans pulsed against your clit. “Wait—” you breathed as you felt your peak nearing, “I need you”.

With a final lingering kiss, he rose, his mouth slightly open, glistening with your slick. His hand wrapped around your neck, thumb resting on your chin. “Use your words, love.” Your cheeks were painted a shade of red, but its reaction was futile as you felt shame no longer. “I want you to ruin me for anyone else,” you confessed in a silent whisper. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel his bulge, begging for friction against your thigh. The space between you endured a burning desire, an ache for more, your hearts syncing as one. “You suffocate me,” he sighed, “you’re fucking killing me.” You brought your hand to his face, caressing his lips and feeling the wetness of your own on his scar beneath your fingertips. “Don’t hold back,” you hushed before capturing his lips with yours.

Afterwards, everything was covered in a haze, every action bewitching your psyche and soul entirely. His lips were a divergent blend of softness and harshness against yours. The deep hunger, alienated for far too long, surged from the depth of each other’s souls, filling the room and drowning out all else. He desperately and swiftly unbuckled his belt, freeing himself from the restraints of his garments as your hands wandered through his tender hair, pulling him closer. “Missed my touch that much, did you?” he teased between kisses, feeling his grin against your lips. You tugged at his hair in response, eliciting a groan from him. “By the end, you’ll be the one begging for more,” you swore as he lifted your dress.

“I’ll beg if only I can hear those pretty noises of yours again,” he purred before he sank into your heat without warning. The sudden contact made him hiss, and in response to his size, you clamped your hands to his shoulders. Once you seemed adjusted, his movements became feverish, seeking that ecstasy you both longed for. The lewd noises from the slapping of your skin and his merciless pounding made you unable to hold back your moans, earning a laugh from him. “There you go,” he breathed, “make your betrothed hear you.”

He lifted your leg, allowing him better access, directing for that sweet spot that made you sing so sweetly for him. “Look how pretty you look, taking all of me so well,” he sighed. His lips wandered on your neck, marking you purple with desire, while his hand ceased under your dress, claiming your breast with his hand. His cold, coarse hand against your sensitive skin made you gasp, your breath hitching as he played with your nipple before pinching it briefly. You squirmed beneath his touch, the sensations becoming maddening, making you light-headed.

He brought his hand lower, pausing before your bundle of nerves, then rubbing harsh circles against it, making your release feel imminent. “Please, Benji, I’m so close,” you begged. “Cum for me, love,” he whispered as he looked at you through his lashes before giving you sloppy kisses around your neck. “Just know no one else can make you feel this good.” His thrusts became bodily, hitting that spot inside you just right, brewing something in your lower stomach and making you reach that euphoria at last.

He watched as you threw your head back, mouth agape. Lightning struck nearby, lighting the room and making your shadows dance on the walls. The thunder hit right after, the weather strong and fierce, aligning with your sinful act. A Blackwood and a Bracken; defying and going against your nature, but Seven Hells- it felt right.

You clenched around his length, uncontrollably, feeling him throb inside you. The corrupt desire to feel him release within you delayed your clarity. “Fuck, I—” he sighed, attempting to pull himself away. “No—“ you pulled him back. “I want to feel you. Fuck the betrothal, fuck Tully. I need you.” His flushed face looked at you reassuringly, silently seeking approval before he yielded; before he melted into you, unable to resist. His eyes rolled back into his head and a silent groan escaped him as he released his load inside you. The pressure of his seed filled you, making you gasp and pull him even closer.

For a moment, you remained together as one, both struggling for breath. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he whispered, breaking the silence between you. He withdrew from your embrace, leaving your hole dripping with his load. He cleaned you up as best as the occasion granted him, before attending to himself. “Did you mean it?” you asked, uncertain of whether or not you wanted to know the answer. He turned to you, a trace of confusion on his face before he took your hands in his. “I stay true to my word,” he insisted, “but before we want Tully, or worse—your father—to suspect anything, we need to leave at once.”

So when the servants walked by the chamber, looking everywhere for a sign of Lord Bracken’s daughter, it was all in vain. The lone wind blew its last breath near the dormer of your bedchamber, your name haunting the grounds like they did you with your victim’s names. No matter your father’s shouting or his scolding, for his voice blew back to its chilling home, and your soul was to return to Stone Hedge nevermore.

Your true name would be plated in silver, laid on a grave to be long forgotten, since there was no more to remember. Your false name became one of songs in the Riverlands, an old maid’s tale exchanged between the elderly and later the young turned elders. A knight of the Riverlands was who you were born to be, and a Lord’s name drenched in blood yielded before you to take whatever fate was yours to claim. His bloodied teeth sang as lasting as oak, dripping your true name in the songs that enshrined your false one, making your own self true at last.

510 notes · View notes

ghostbsuter · 11 months

Text

"Oh, fuck no." The door is slammed, unfortunately for him, the guy stuck his foot in the jamb and pushed it open again.

"C'mon luv!" Constantine smiles charmingly, not waiting for Danny and entering the apartment.

At least Batman, Nightwing and Spoiler had the patience to wait for him to invite them in. Sagging against the door, he beckoned them inside.

Despite the caution, Spoiler gleefully stepped in, looking around like a child in an amusement park— which might not be too far off.

His apartment is, with all its wards and enchantments, very magical inside than it is outside.

The planetary system of another world, used as light for the living room and for practice.

(Nightwing is careful with what he touches. He still remembers the hours they spent in Mumbo Jumbo's hat.)

Batman on the other hand is following Constantine and Danny to what he assumes to be the office, if the amount of magical stuff carelessly laying around means anything.

"Alright fucker, what are you doing here? And how did you even know I live in gotham?"

John had the audacity to look abashed, scratching the back of his head with a nervous chuckle.

"Something came up and you know Gotham doesn't like me. She is much more used to you and I wanted to introduce bats to you, in case of emergency."

The young adolence stares owlishly.

(How did Constantine expect him to act at the fact that he's trusting a magical situation into the hands of a stranger?

Batman isn't sure how good the boy even is!)

"That's incredible thoughtful of you Connie." Danny hums. "What did you lose for your sorry ass to come here?"

Spoiler snorts, petting a red salamander. "He didn't lose anything." She reassures with a wave, giving an exaggerated smile and raising her brows to show that she's finding it very amusing.

Constantine sputters.

"Ancient knows how Zatanna and Raven deal with him."

Nighteing perks up from the side where he'd looked over the books, some pixie fairies(?) fawning over him? "Raven? You know her?"

Danny suppresses another sigh.

1K notes · View notes

juiceicicles · 1 year

Text

Steve plays DnD with Eddie and the kids (not Hellfire, none of them are ready for that yet) for the first time and attempts to seduce a dude to get information.

The thing is, Steve’s character is also a dude. When he first asks, Eddie is shocked, the kids are confused because “he’s a man, Steve” and Steve just pulls out some old Harrington charm and sufficiently flusters Eddie and gets the information needed.

Most of the kids are just happy it worked. Will is happy and surprised because apparently both Eddie and Steve are cool with gay people, cool enough to roleplay as them! Mike is having an internal crisis because the lord has a wife but it still worked so is he gay or straight? When asked Eddie just says he likes both, which prompts a small internal crisis. Eddie is a weird jumble of feelings because Steve is flirting with him! But like in character. So is Steve gay? Is his character gay?! What’s happening!

Steve’s flirty remarks make it out of the game and just become Steve flirting ruthlessly with Eddie, but prompts no questioning from the party because “it’s an inside joke”.

#steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things 4 #steddie #steddie prompt #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie headcanon #lots of people have done the Steve flirts with Eddie via dnd #so the fic is certainly out there #I just think the idea of it giving Mike a sexuality crisis is funny #and that nobody in the party questions their flirting any further #and when they flirt out of game #it’s just their thing #and so when they start dating #nobody knows #for a solid few months #juicepost

2K notes · View notes

princessfbi · 3 months

Note

Tommy’s arms are warm as they wrap around Buck. + bucktommy

Tommy’s arms were warm as they wrapped around Buck. Warm and big.

Buck was still getting used to that. Big arms that could wrap around his waist and still have room to tighten. Big chest for him to curl up against and pillow his head. Big hands.

God, Tommy’s hands were huge.

A stubbled cheek scratched against his own before a soft kiss pressed into the column of his throat. Buck melted against the warmth, folding into Tommy as the bed dipped with their weight. Buck let out a noise from the back of his throat as he slid into Tommy's lap.

“You’re okay,” Tommy reminded him. Reminded him because Buck had asked him to. Something he should’ve done before the first time he slept over. But Buck had been foolishly hoping that they had gone away.

He hadn’t had a nightmare in the first two months of dating Tommy. They had started staying over after the first month. Tommy still took things slow— painfully slow if anyone asked a hot and bothered Buck when all he wanted was to feel Tommy toss him around a bit and then kiss him until he couldn’t see straight— but sharing space between each other had felt as natural as breathing. A hooked ankle under the table. A hand held in the car. A lean into each other’s weight while Buck inhaled the masculine scent that still sent a shockwave through Buck’s system. It’d been easy to feel safe and unguarded around one another to fall asleep in bed together.

Two months in and Buck had thought— stupidly— that they were gone. That every night would involve him curled up on Tommy’s chest or Tommy pressed to his back or Tommy’s head pillowed on his bicep while he clung to Buck’s waist. That every night would be perfect. Untainted.

Then the first nightmare came. It’d been an ugly, gnarly twisted monster of a thing. One that made Buck’s skin slick with a cold sweat and the oxygen trapped in his lungs. Seeing Tommy’s freaked out expression while he held Buck’s hand through a panic attack that sent him flying to the bathroom to puke had been almost worse than the nightmare itself.

Guilt and embarrassment had eaten away at his already frayed nerves. Tommy had sat down beside him on the too cold tile and rubbed his back while Buck retched. Then Tommy did the only thing he could do in that situation.

“What can I do?” He had asked.

“You’re okay, baby. Just breathe,” Tommy whispered into Buck’s skin, a firm but gentle hand rubbing across his sternum.

“Remind me I’m okay. That it’s— it’s not real.” Buck had said with his cheeks burning with humiliation and his eyes pointed down at his lap. Tommy had curled two fingers under his chin and tipped his eyes back up.

“Eddie’s fine. He’s at home. He’s okay,” Tommy said over and over again.

Buck must have been talking in his sleep. It was the only explanation for how Tommy knew that Buck’s nightmare had tasted like copper. That the ground had shook beneath his feet, making it impossible to get to his friend as he bled out on the pavement. How he’d reached and reached, screaming his name as something dragged him further and further away. His throat was raw from screaming when Eddie’s head and lulled in his direction but there hadn’t been a face. Just a sheen filter over a lifeless expression that would’ve broken Buck.

Tommy pressed his big palm flat over Buck’s racing heart and pulled Buck further into his lap, scooping up Buck’s legs so he could hold him fully.

“He’s okay. You’re okay. It was just a bad dream.” Tommy murmured into his hair as Buck curled his fists into Tommy’s sleep shirt.

“Sorry…” Buck croaked because even through the haze of the lingering panic still choking him, he could see how late... or rather early it was and Tommy had a shift.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Tommy said, tightening his hold around Buck until the pressure started to ease away the tight ball of tension in Buck’s chest. “Just breathe for me.”

Buck breathed and it was stilted and ragged but it was real. Real and warm like Tommy curled around him.

It helped. It helped more than Buck could possibly say.

#evan buckley #tommy kinard #eddie diaz #bucktommy #my fic writing #911 fic #prompt game #anon #royal decree #the ally and the beast

320 notes · View notes

pepsi-maxwell · 6 months

Note

👀🌶 "chair", CodyNick or CodyMax

first of all my apologies for taking so long to answer this! i went with codymax, slightly spicy, set during their feuding period <3

---

He can't touch.

He mustn't touch. Max's words ring loud and clear in his head just like the crack of his own belt against his back, sore where it presses against his shirt, against the steel back of the chair he's seated in.

“No touching,” Max purrs, reinforcing the message as he falls to his knees before him, and Cody’s fingers cramp with how tightly he grips the base of the chair, because muscle memory is telling him to sink them into Max's hair, grip it tight.

“Imagine if you did, though,” Max continues, deftly flicking open the button of Cody's slacks, looking up from under his eyelashes, not fully able to hide his anger. Freeing Cody's cock from the confines of his clothing in one last ditch attempt to force him to give in, break the stipulation. “Imagine if you went through all that, ten lashes, a cage match, only to fail here...”

Cody forces his head back, looking at the ceiling desperately as Max sucks at the crown of his cock, letting out a muffled whimper that's anything but genuine.

#codymax #fic prompt game #godiva writes #sarahcakes613

12 notes · View notes

minttangerines · 4 months

Note

I Don't Understand But I Love You (I don't expect you to do all these, I'm just giving options)

Ugh! I'm so sorry I keep leaning to the darkside. I'M A SITH 😭

Pairing: OC x Seokmin, OC x Hoshi, OC x Seungkwan (I'm sorry! I had to!)

Genre: Mutant au, political aspects Warnings: Manipulation, politics, rough sex, knife play, family problems

Summary: At your family reunion, you spend time with your eccentric Aunt Betty. She has always been nice to you even though you barely see each other. It is the first time seeing her in years when you unload on her the latest update about your love life. You are still hopelessly in love with Seokmin. It doesn't help every school you attended, he attended as well. When you return home, there he is on your front porch waiting for you. Why he is so worried? What break up is he talking about? Why is he getting down on one knee?

Spoilers: Your Aunt Betty aka The Dreamer aka the person that implanted false memories in Seokmin's mind that you two broke up because he cheated. Only she's usually more careful when she does something like this. Unfortunately she could not balance out the memories in time. Seokmin is a bit obsessive when it comes to you. After lots of sex and defending your "love" to the people in his life, you walk him through your lives together and he realizes what happened. He leaves you and has no idea what is real anymore. He can't decide between killing you and loving you forever.

#I don't know anymore man...#I am not a writer nor claim to be #fic prompt game #dk #seventeen #minisugakoobies #the Light Line #I WILL CLEANSE MY SOUL #I PROMISE

7 notes · View notes

buddie-buddie · 3 months

Note

Buddie + “Who did this?”

“Who did this?” Eddie’s voice is hard and icy in a way that's almost foreign to Buck. Almost, but not entirely. His eyes drop to where Eddie’s lips are pressed into a line, his jaw set, and memories of derailed trains and risky rescues and Abby flash in his mind.

Buck doesn’t have time to focus too much on that, though, because Eddie's closing the distance between them and taking Buck's chin in his hands. Everything else fades away until there’s nothing but the familiar warmth of Eddie’s gentle touch and the pleasant ache in Buck’s chest, the same one that blooms behind his ribs each time Eddie’s nearby.

Eddie touches him like he's something sacred, holds him like he's something precious.

“I–” Buck hesitates. It’s not that he wants to hide anything from Eddie, he just… he doesn’t want to worry him, is all.

It’s bad enough he has a fresh bruise blooming across his jaw, blues and purples swimming beneath swollen skin. Swollen skin that’s split in one spot, held together with a butterfly bandage that Hen insisted he actually needed, despite his protests and attempts at bargaining. Of course Eddie’s going to worry when he sees that.

And see that, he did. About three seconds after Buck walked through the door of Eddie’s house– no, not Eddie’s house. Their house. His lease on the loft had officially ended two weeks ago, but he’d been living at the Diaz house for the better part of the last four months, since the morning he woke up sleepy and cranky, grumbling about having to stop by the loft before their shift to get more clothes and Eddie had kissed the spot behind his ear and murmured, “What if you bring them all over?”

Buck had turned over in Eddie’s arms, suddenly wide awake. “E-Eddie.”

“Bring them all,” Eddie had said, bringing a hand up and tracing Buck’s birthmark with gentle, reverent touches. “And all your shoes, too. And the frying pan Bobby got you for Christmas two years ago that you said you want to be buried with. And the books on your coffee table and that plant you keep killing and honestly? Your mattress. It’s better than this one.”

“Eddie,” Buck had breathed, unable to get anything else out past the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

“Buck,” Eddie said simply. Buck would never tire of hearing his name on Eddie’s lips. “Stay.”

And Buck did.

This isn’t just Eddie’s house anymore, it’s their house. And a few minutes ago, when Buck got home, Eddie had come to the front door to greet him, just as he always did when he heard Buck’s key in the lock. He rounded the corner with a warm, easy smile, one that instantly fell the second his eyes landed on Buck. He had stepped forward, closing the distance between them and reaching for Buck’s bruised face with a gentle insistence that was still fond, even when laced in desperation.

Buck didn’t want to worry him any more than he already had. Plus, really, there’s nothing to worry about. Their last call of the shift had been to an overturned vehicle, and the driver was more than twice the legal limit and just as combative as he was plastered. Buck had tried to stop the guy from crawling out his window– Chim and Hen had wanted to get him on a backboard– but it was no use. The guy was out of the car and stumbling towards Buck with a fury in his eyes, accusing him of being the one to call the police. Buck was halfway through denying that claim when a fist flew at his face, pain exploding from his jaw as he reeled back, stumbling to the side as his hand flew to his face.

There’s a fire burning in Eddie’s eyes, dark and protective. But more than that, there’s a softness there, a gentleness hidden in the way Eddie’s eyebrows lift just slightly, his eyes wide and searching as he waits Buck out.

“Buck,” Eddie says finally, barely above a whisper. It’s a plea more than anything.

Six years of knowing Eddie and six months of dating him and Buck still folds like a cheap suit when Eddie looks at him like that. “It's nothing. Just a drunk idiot on our last call.”

Eddie makes a dissatisfied sound under his breath, running his fingers over the bruised skin with a touch so light and careful, it sets Buck’s heart on fire. “And this person was dealt with.” It’s not a question so much as it is a statement, one that speaks to his trust in the rest of the 118. His faith in them to have Buck's back, especially when he can't be the one to do it himself.

Buck nods the best he can with his chin still in Eddie’s hands. “Bobby,” he says, and it’s explanation enough. “And then Athena.”

Eddie hums, and Buck can tell that while the answer satisfies him, it’s not enough to chase away all of the concern that’s needling at him. Buck brings his hands up, curling his fingers around the warm skin of Eddie’s wrists. The steady beat of Eddie’s pulse beneath his fingertips is instantly grounding. And maybe just as much for Eddie, too, if the small sigh that falls from his lips is any indication.

“Baby,” Buck says softly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Eddie’s voice is small when he answers, quiet and resigned in a way that splits Buck open just as much as Eddie’s words do. “I wasn’t there.”

Through no fault of his own. Christopher was running a fever the night before their shift started, and with Pepa out of town and Carla at Morongo again, Eddie had called out to stay home with him. Which he feels guilty about, if the resignation in his voice and the regret in his eyes are anything to go off of.

“You were exactly where you needed to be,” Buck reminds him.

Eddie lets out a small sigh. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Doesn’t mean I hate it any less, though.”

Buck shrugs. “Never expected you would.” A small smile tugs at his lips, and he ignores the way that even the slight motion sends a fresh wave of pain radiating across his jaw. “Chim says we’re ‘sickeningly codependent.’”

“Maybe,” Eddie admits, his thumb ghosting over Buck’s bottom lip. His gaze skates from Buck’s eyes to his lips, then back up again. Buck can see the moment Eddie hesitates, can see the flash of trepidation in his eye.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Buck assures him. “In fact,” he says, almost conspiratorially. “It could be what heals me.”

Eddie hums, a smile playing on his face. “Better give it a try, then.”

“Guess so.”

Eddie finally, finally kisses him, and it may not patch Buck’s skin back together or undo the broken blood vessels, but it chases away every last bit of the pain. It ebbs away until there’s nothing but Eddie. Nothing but the feel of Eddie’s fingers in his hair and Eddie’s lips on his, nothing but the way Eddie grins against Buck’s mouth and Buck feels good and right and whole. He feels like an unmoored ship who’s anchor’s just hit the sand, no longer adrift. Steady. Grounded. Safe.

He feels like he’s home.

After all, he is.

prompt game

#prompt game #my writing #once again five sentences turned into over a thousand words #whoops #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck and eddie #buck x eddie #buddie fic #protective eddie diaz #i am still sitting on so many of these prompts so if i didn't get to yours yet just bear with me!!#i want to say sorry about it but i'm not going to because SOMEONE #*pointed stare at princessfbi*#will yell at me if i do

314 notes · View notes

missswritesalot · 24 days

Note

Can I request something with Robb stark x shy reader. She is very quiet and a good wife too rob, but she loves seeing him be a true king to his people so when someone comes along and tries to knock him down a few pegs she speaks up and reminds said person of who they are speaking to leaving Robb speechless and a little turned on. You can end it there or add in a little smut if you want. Thank youuu

A/N requests open! Hope you enjoy, anon! There is just a sprinkle of nsfw at the end, but I tagged it with smut just to be safe ;) i think i used the word shy like a million times. Reblog/Comment if you want more!

You and your husband, Robb, were touring the North and providing supplies to the smallfolk to support them through the Winter. There were many grievances to address and you held court at all the small towns.

You hated the attention, and it was a small mercy that you rarely had to speak. Even when Robb needed your counsel, he asked for it in private so you weren’t embarrassed. The eyes of the people on you were enough to mortify you, yet you bore your discomfort silently and stood by his side.

At one such hearing, Robb ordered the Lords of the lesser Northern houses to visit. You were seated next to him on your throne, Greywind sleeping on the raised floor at your feet.

“The old ways have served the North fruitfully for years. Listen carefully, one war does not make a boy a man and you are yet to know the ways of the world.” Lord Karstark said, wagging a wrinkled finger at Robb.

It was the third time he had questioned your husband in front of his Council. You were furious.

All Robb had suggested was reducing the great burden of supporting lesser houses with tithes from the peasants. Many smallfolks families were missing men and weapons due to the war, and winter was coming. It would be his first Winter as King of the North and he wanted all his subjects to survive, not just the noblemen.

You thought it was admirable. You also knew how hard he worked, spending almost all nights this week pouring over papers and accounts.

“Don’t forget yourself, I am the King,” Robb chided him. Greywind woke up and went to him, a silent threat.

“No man that calls himself King is a true-“ Lord Karstark began in his crotchety old voice. Anger coursed through your veins. How dare this senile old man try to insult your husband.

You cleared your throat. The hall fell silent. Robb frowned and turned to look at you. His wife was a woman of few words but they were all worth hearing.

“My King husband would have no need of repeating his station if you would remember it, my Lord. And if you cannot, then perhaps in the evening of one’s life we must accept our limitations and resign to things we are capable of.” You said calmly, yet sharply. Robb’s jaw dropped in awe.

It took Karstark’s slow mind a moment longer to process.

“Control your tongue, woman,” he said said, eyes wild, pointing to you.

“Disrespect the Queen and you will feel my blade,” Robb yelled, stepping down from the throne and pulling out Ice, just as the direwolf by his side leapt into action.

Karstark did not know when to keep hush. He retorted back sarcastically, and the altercation ended with him being dragged to the dungeons for his impunity. The other lords were also greatly displeased with him, for now they had no chance of changing the King’s mind about restoring their allowances.

You were glad to see the end of the day, and walked into the chambers of your current abode with Robb trailing behind you.

“Lord Karstark demands hot oil for his feet, did you hear it, darling?” Robb said, crushing the piece of correspondence he read. “To send his demands with servants even when imprisoned. The gall of him.” He chuckled.

“I’ve had it up to here with that old bastard,” you said angrily. You let your hair down and started running your fingers through it roughly. The more you thought of it, the more your anger flared.

“How dare he set foot in your court, dine and dwell in our hospitality, and feel entitled to disrespect you like that? I will not stand for it, Robb.” You said, tugging at the lacing and stepping out of your gray court dress.

“Age does not guarantee wisdom, darling. Experience does. And the old fool has none.” Robb said, walking up to you and resting his hands on your shoulders. He pushed your hair to the side and kissed up your neck from your shoulders to your ear.

You tilted your head to give him more access. After a while he turned you around and kissed your mouth. You savored his languid kisses. His hands slowly pushed your chemise over your shoulders till it hung just above your breasts.

You pulled away, and leaned back, his strong arms holding you up.

“I’m sorry for speaking out of turn, love” you said shyly. You were bold in your anger but the shyness was starting to creep in now. “I love you, and I cannot bear to see you insulted after you pour your soul into this Kingdom.”

“Don’t be sorry, you were fantastic,” Robb said, apparently unable to keep his lips off of you. You gasped as he nipped at the bottom of your throat. “I would like to see the wolf in my little wife more often.”

You giggled at his words, and he walked you backwards till your calves hit the bed. Your chemise dropped to your hips and his hands made quick work of finding your breasts.

Your hands came up to cover yourself.

“Robb, the candles,” you said, eyes wide. His own blue ones lit up with mirth.

“I know now that you are not shy, let me see what is mine, darling.” He whispered, pushing your chemise to the floor. You stepped out of it, naked as the day you were born. Your skin felt hot under his hungry gaze.

“Lie back, Y/N,” he said, licking his lips and pushing you down on the bed. “I wish to show you some of my appreciation.” He knelt before you with a wink.

Robbs hands found your knees and he spread them apart. Your hands twisted into his auburn hair in surprise.

And there was nothing shy about the sounds you made that night.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfic #robb stark fanfic #robb stark imagine #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark smut #robb stark x reader smut #robb stark prompt #robb stark request #robb stark fanfiction #robb stark imagines #game of thrones reader insert #game of thrones smut #game of thrones fic

202 notes · View notes

alchemistc · 2 months

Note

Oh, those prompts are so good! If you’re inspired, either 21. listening to someone’s heartbeat or 23. wearing someone’s clothes for Buck/Tommy? Thank you!

He's so fucking tired, is the thing. He's tired, and he's cranky, and this shift had taken ages to end, so when he sees the slash of bright bright blue bleeding out of his duffle and knows immediately what it is, something soft and achy blooms in his chest, and he ignores the subtle eyebrow from Lucy when he pulls it out.

The problem is she's seen Evan in this sweatshirt, less than a week ago when he'd dragged everyone out to trivia, when they'd all been well rested and happy to pepper Evan with stories about Tommy and the more sedate hijinks that Harbor station gets up to. Tommy ignores her look and shrugs it over his shoulders, dragging his head through the neck hole and not minding too much when the hood goes crooked, half stuck in his hair as he gets a wash of pleasant smells - Evan's aftershave, the detergent he uses, a hint of musk, Christ, he'd tucked it in to Tommy's bag unwashed like he knew exactly how much Tommy would want that.

Tommy does his level best not to look like he's huffing glue as he adjusts the hood around the back of his neck.

Donato bites her lip. Sighs, heavily. "Did you steal that, or are you guys in the part of the courting ritual where you do this exhausting shit on purpose just to point out how single the rest of us are?"

Tommy sends a half-hearted glare her way, gets another whiff of aftershave and tries his absolute hardest not to sigh like a lovelorn idiot. He's maybe half successful.

"You are choosing to be single. You have a great guy who'd absolutely love to lock you down, Donato." Tommy stuffs his hands into the front pocket and cocks a hip, and Donato frowns.

"He likes me too much. Don't trust it."

His huff of laughter cuts through the quiet of the locker room. "Hate to break it to you, Luce, but you kinda gotta open yourself up to the possibility of someone enjoying your company, if you want a glimpse at annoying, exhausting, stupid relationship shit."

"I'm trying to mock you, not get relationship advice from your domestically blissed ass."

It's not the first time someone has pointed out Tommy's supposed blissful status, but his body and his mind are so fucking tired and there are apparently, if Evan's last text is to be believed, a couple good cuts of steak seasoned and waiting for Tommy to fire up the grill at home. Which means there is also a man waiting for him there, too, a man with seemingly limitless energy and pockets of technically useless information, a man with silver-cast blue eyes and a birthmark over his brow that Tommy wants to bite every time he catches a glimpse of it out of the corner or his eye, a man he'd given his spare key months too soon just because he liked the idea of coming home to him, liked the idea of him creeping in while Tommy was passed out across his bed or shifting tools around in his garage or -

"Ugh. Gross. I'm leaving, now, tell Buck I said hi."

Tommy isn't actually sure he's going to do that, because he's just realized something that takes precedent, and no offense to Lucy, but she's already wormed her way into one of Evan's defining relationship moments and he's not giving her this one.

He waves her off and shoots Evan a text to let him know he's on his way.

Going home right away doesn't feel right, actually, now that he's thinking about it. He should get flowers, or - maybe learn a foreign language. How much Spanish have Christopher and Eddie taught Evan? Does Jee have some event he could crash?

(Tommy would like to point out that while he hasn't quite said it in words, he's not exactly upset about the way he and Evan are maybe a little batshit insane about each other. If Evan doesn't have any complaints, he's not going to put a damper on it, either.)

The drive home gives him enough time to talk himself down from hiring a skywriter, his cab awash in the scent of the armor-all Evan had spilled in it last week when he got distracted from 'helping' Tommy clean, the hints of scent from the hoodie that's maybe a little tight around the shoulders but still a perfect fit. For him. For Tommy.

Fuck. He should at least get the flowers.

Tommy makes himself keep driving. He's delirious with exhaustion, actually, that's why he keeps overthinking this, there's a steak dinner and a beautiful man waiting for him at home and Evan had probably gotten flowers at the market anyway. Because he does that, constantly, to the point that Tommy had run out of vases to keep them all in.

Tommy sits in the cab once he pulls in and tries hard not to romanticize the idea of Evan's Jeep looking right at home in the spot next to his.

Evan greets him at the door with a wide grin, a spoon in one hand, the other held under it to keep from spilling. "Taste," he says as a greeting, and Tommy opens his mouth more for the pleasure of seeing Evan's eyes light than any expectation for what's being put there.

Cucumber, vinegar, dill - he moans around the mouthful and barely chews before he swallows, suddenly intent to get his mouth on Evan's mouth. His duffle lands in the entryway with a thunk and he gets two hands into the hem of Evan's shirt, intent on tugging him in. "Hi," he says, and swallows whatever greeting Evan tries to return.

When they come up for air Tommy's pulse is racing, Evan is breathing heavily, and he's pretty sure there is a spoon tucked into his back pocket, left there when Evan slung his arm back to get a handful of Tommy's ass.

"Hi," he says, finally, eyes lingering on the neckline of the jacket he'd snuck into Tommy's bag.

The significance of the moment finally catches up to Tommy - the memory something Tommy sometimes falls back on when he gets too in his head about where this is going - stumbling through the emergency room doors with the leers of exhausted firefighters echoing in his ears, Evan a vision in blue (this blue) barely letting him get an apology out before trying to eat his face off in front of three amused nurses.

"Hey," Tommy says, feeling the day just slough off of him. His left hand has tucked itself neatly between Evan's impressive pectorals, and he contemplates, for a moment, just saying fuck it to the steaks and shoving him back until he can press Evan to his sheets, blanket himself atop him, press his cheek there instead of his hand and listen to the steady beat.

Evan blinks back at him, his eyes doing something unbearably sweet, and Tommy has to tell him, he really, absolutely does, only -

"I'm in love with you," Evan says, laughing a little breathlessly once the words are out, hands pressing in at Tommy's waist, a sort of wondrous expression leaking in around his smile lines.

Tommy should maybe feel like the wind has been ripped from his sails, but the fever-pitch beat of his heart won't let him.

"Y-you don't have to, like, say it back. I just. God I like you so much but I'm also - I love you," he repeats, or amends, or - there's something settled, in his expression, like just saying it was enough, like he doesn't expect Tommy to feel the same.

Tommy waits a beat. Slides the hand on his chest up over the rasp of his end-of-day stubble, thumbing the crook of his chin, fingers dancing over his cheekbone. "Evan," he says, sounding a little breathless, which should be embarrassing but Tommy doesn't care, and Evan's gaze catches and holds as he waits for whatever Tommy has to say next

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #send me a prompt!#inbox games

249 notes · View notes