#cough and he tops gale cough

[kozh-lucium]

I wonder what Bhaal is thinking if he saw his ex-kid frolicking like this.

Is he still salty that resist Durge disobey him?

Maybe not, since he can just make another bhaalspawn.

[dancingbirdie]

Okay so on Astarion, I was reading this fic about him not knowing Tavs true intentions with him and it bothering Astarion a lot, so what if he goes to some mage or magic user and asks them to show Tavs true intentions to him, when he does the vision he sees is just... being snuggled. It's Tav on top of him and the both of you are falling asleep, his hands are under your shirt softly petting your skin as your sleepy self is contently snuggled up to him. I just start crying about him finding out that Tavs DASTARDLY and EVIL plan with him, their greatest desire from him... is to simply be held. 🥺

Hi @goblin-creatcher! Thank you so much for this BEAUTIFUL prompt. I, uhh, kind of took it and went a million miles an hour with it. This is honestly one of my favorite things I've ever written. I hope you enjoy it as well! xoxoxo

Something Imagined / Something Real

Word Count: 3.9K

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Warnings/Tags: Brief but detailed description of rough consensual sex, descriptions and references to Astarion's trauma/trauma responses, minor Act 1 and Act 2 spoilers, FLUFF, angst

Suggested Song Pairing: Slow Dancing in A Burning Room (Stripped) - cover by ST LUNA

Summary: Astarion has been suspicious of Tav’s true intentions toward him. He persuades Gale to cast a spell and reveal her motivations. ANGST and FLUFF ensue. A rewriting of Astarion’s confession scene from Act 2.

The sun had just begun to set on the campsite when Astarion decided to put his plan into action. He had waited until Tav departed with some of the other party members before making his way over to the wizard. Gale was too busy reassembling the bookshelf inside his tent to notice Astarion’s approach. It wasn’t until he gave a polite cough that Gale jumped and whirled to face him. 

“No, no, no,” he began all at once, hands raised in a sort of shooing motion. Astarion stared at him in confusion. “I can respect Tav’s indulging in your need for blood, but as I’ve said before: I taste terrible.” 

Astarion scoffed. “Charming. Actually, wizard, I was coming to request your aid in a different, though somewhat related, matter.”

“Really? Care to elaborate?” Gale responded, still somewhat wary. It wasn’t often he found himself alone with the vampire. 

“Testy, I see,” Astarion crooned teasingly. His knee-jerk response to people treating him like a monster, to behave in the most false saccharine sort of way. 

But he drew up short, censoring himself before saying anything else he might regret. He knew he needed to get on the wizard’s good side if he had any chance of getting the answers he sought. 

“I was hoping you knew a spell to reveal someone’s true intentions. Their… motivations for behaving in a certain way, so to speak,” he finished more seriously. 

Gale pondered the question for a moment before answering. 

“Hmm… yes, there is magic to determine that sort of thing… Although it’s been some time since I practiced it…” He trailed off, rubbing his chin in thought. 

“Why are you asking for such a thing?” he asked suddenly. 

Astarion had been prepared for this question, of course. No one did anything for free, no questions asked. He delivered his explanation perfectly, as he’d been rehearsing in his mind.

“One might say our dear sweet Tav and I have been growing a bit… closer these days, but I can sense a master manipulator when I see one. I just simply want to ensure their intentions toward me - toward the party - are true,” he replied with mock innocence. 

“Ah, yes,” Gale nodded. “I gathered as much when the two of you slipped away from the tiefling’s party a few nights ago.” 

“But,” he continued on,”I needn’t think you should worry when it comes to Tav. She seems about as transparent as they come. I’m sure any intentions she has toward you are true.”

Yes, but the best actors always mask their motivations behind innocence and transparency, Astarion thought to himself. I should know. I’ve been doing it for centuries.

After the party’s unfortunate meeting with that Gur in the Sunlit Wetlands, Astarion realized he would have to take potential threats from Cazador even more seriously. He wasn’t about to lose his freedom, not now that he finally had some small taste of it. 

It didn’t hurt to be more suspicious of everyone he encountered, even the sweetling Tav. Anyone could be an operative sent by Cazador, and the best ones would be as skilled as he was in the art of manipulation. It was well-known at this point that the person he’d grown the closest to on their journey was their brave party leader, Tav. Unlikely as it may be that she was scheming for his master, Astarion’s paranoia wouldn’t let him indulge in interactions with her a second longer unless he knew how she truly felt. 

Given Gale’s hesitation, Astarion knew he would have to kick his acting up a notch. Press on that wizard’s heartstrings. Touch the one nerve he knew he was sensitive to.

“Gale, darling, from one literally damaged soul to another, indulge me just this once,” Astarion beseeched him. 

The wizard glared at him a moment, before finally relenting with a heavy sigh. “Fine. Fine. But I want it known that I don’t agree with this so-called solution one whit,” he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yes, yes, noted and formally documented, on my word as a former Baldurian magistrate,” Astarion replied cheerily. “So, let’s hop to it then, shall we?”

“What, right now?” Gale asked, shocked. “Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, a little less conspicuous?” 

“What better time than now?” Astarion responded. “Tav’s out gathering firewood with Wyll and Karlach. They won’t be back for some time. As for Lae’zel and Shadowheart, well…” he paused, gesturing over his shoulder. 

Said two were engaged in a heated sparring session on the outskirts of the camp. Snarls and curses could be heard emanating from both warriors as they tried, and failed, to gain the upper hand against their opponent.

“That lovers’ dance could go on until morning,” Astarion finished. 

“Fair point,” Gale admitted begrudgingly, grimacing at the sound of swords clashing violently. “Very well. Let’s get started.” 

Clearing his throat, Gale began to utter a series of phrases completely foreign to Astarion. He watched as the wizard began moving his hands in a wavelike pattern, forming a circle before them. Suddenly, a mist began to form from seemingly thin air, taking shape according to the boundaries Gale’s hands were creating. The mist grew more and more opaque until it appeared before them like a clouded mirror. 

As the fogginess of the ethereal magic began to clear, the “mirror” became a confusing blur of scenes whipping by, too fast for Astarion or Gale to really comprehend. There were flashes of Tav and Astarion, together and separate, but they disappeared too quickly to ascertain their context. It was as though the spell was shuffling through the entirety of Tav’s thoughts, assessing each one at breakneck speed. 

Finally, the spell slowed to a halt, stopping on one scene in particular. Astarion was struck speechless by what began playing out in the foggy portal before them. So distracted, he didn’t even notice Gale’s tight cough, or how the wizard suddenly became intensely interested in a copse of trees nearby, rather than the revelation the spell was revealing.

Not that the scene was especially profound, objectively speaking. In fact, to anyone else, it might be viewed as the least revelatory thing possible that the spell could have shown. Boring. Inconsequential, even. But to Astarion, it was almost earth shattering. 

He saw himself - he could see his face! - with Tav, lying tangled together in some immaculate four-poster bed. 

That was the first shock that coursed through him, nearly causing his knees to buckle. He was seeing himself for the first time in over 200 years. Or at least, he was seeing himself as Tav saw him. And… the person he saw… Well, he was gorgeous. White blonde locks, curled and tousled in a devil-may-care sort of way. A strong, patrician nose that suggested good breeding. High, sharp cheekbones. Full lips, upturned in a thoughtless grin. Red eyes bordered by long, sweeping lashes. Delicately pointed elven ears. Smooth alabaster skin, without blemish or spot. 

Astarion could scarcely believe his own eyes. 

The second shock to his system was the nature of their activities. He would have been less surprised had the vision shown them fucking. Him taking her roughly from behind perhaps. His name a cry of ecstasy from her lips as he pistoned in and out of her with a feral sort of determination. 

Fantasies of lust, of total domination, now those were things he was familiar with inspiring in the minds of the victims he had taken as lovers. It was what he strove for, in all honesty. Desire like that all but ensured he would capture his prey and live to serve another day for his master. 

But nothing of the sort was occurring between vision-Tav and himself. Instead, they were just… embracing? What in sweet hells was this?

She lay halfway on top of him. Her hair was mussed, perhaps from sleep or perhaps from previous lovemaking. One hand was drawing absentminded shapes across his chest, her lips trailing behind, leaving kisses in their wake. He watched as vision-Astarion chuckled softly, as his hands slipped beneath her sleepshirt to caress her waist, as he placed an innocent kiss on the top of Tav’s head. Eventually, she reached for his hand. They both watched their fingers intertwine, blissfully content.

It was the purest, unadulterated expression of affection that Astarion had ever seen. Something in his heart quaked at the sight of it. He wanted that moment. He envied, he hated, vision-Astarion for enjoying such apparent happiness.

So absorbed in the vision and its implications, Astarion failed to notice the soft padding of feet that indicated someone’s re-entry into the camp. 

“If the two of you are quite finished poking around in my head,” an angry voice suddenly spat from behind them, “I’d appreciate you preserving what little privacy I have left and shutting that damn spell off.”

Mortified, Astarion and Gale turned to see Tav, arms crossed and visibly seething with rage. Gale quickly dispelled the magic with a flick of his wrist. A blush was slowly but surely rising up Tav’s neck to reach her cheeks. Whether from rage or embarrassment, Astarion couldn’t be certain. 

“Tav, let us explain-” Astarion started.

“It was his idea-” Gale blurted at the same time, pointing at Astarion. 

Both paused, glaring at one another. But Tav would have none of their feeble attempts at backpedaling. 

“The explanation doesn’t matter. Whose idea it was doesn’t matter. The fact is that both of you violated the privacy of my mind, which I’ll remind you, has ALREADY been violated by having a bloody tadpole forced inside of it!” Tav shouted. At their words, the camp became enveloped in a heavy silence. Even the crickets ceased their chirping.

Astarion cringed inwardly, knowing the other party members could plainly hear this altercation and had likely stopped whatever it was that they had been doing to listen in. He noted the sounds of swords clanging together had ceased. He was certain Lae’zel and Shadowheart at least were aware of what was happening. Nosy bastards, all of them.

But what disturbed him even more was the realization that Tav’s eyes were welling with tears. She was too proud to acknowledge them or wipe them away. Such was her nature. But they were there nonetheless, and the knowledge that Astarion had brought her to the point of tears was enough to spur a rush of utter self-loathing inside him.

Without another word, Tav turned on her heel and marched stiffly out of camp, toward the direction of a nearby creek they’d identified as a water source earlier in the day.

“I can’t believe I let you convince me to perform that spell,” Gale said as she disappeared between the trees. He dragged his hands down his face. 

“How could we have been so doltish, forgetting that all of our privacies have already been violated with this tadpole business?”

Astarion didn’t have an answer to that. At least, not one the wizard could possibly understand. 

The thought hadn’t occurred to Astarion, he realized, because violations of privacy had been something so intrinsic to his being for over 200 years. He didn’t even recognize it as something abnormal. Like a fish unaware that the water surrounding it is, in fact, water. 

Violations of privacy were a part of life, at least for him. So much so that his request for Gale to perform that magic hadn’t even occurred to him as an overstepping of boundaries. To Astarion, it had simply been a matter of survival. He had needed to know another potentially manipulative person’s true intentions, and so he had found a means to uncover it and maintain the upper hand. 

Belatedly, he also realized that Gale’s hesitation to cast the spell had had nothing to do with being inconvenienced for the evening, but because the wizard had known that it was improper to do to another person. If he had misread that, Astarion wondered, then what other truly benevolent behaviors had he mistaken as pragmatic manipulation?

“I need to go find her,” Astarion murmured, clenching and unclenching his fists in an uncharacteristic fit of uncertainty. 

“Yes, you do,” Gale asserted. “We both owe her a sincere apology… if she’ll even accept it.”

“I’ll see if I can convince her to come back to camp,” Astarion replied, making to leave in the direction Tav had stormed off. 

“Wait,” Gale said, a hand on his shoulder. Astarion turned to meet his gaze. 

“Look, well, I’m obviously not an expert in healthy demonstrations of affection. But I do think it’s obvious from what you saw in that spell that Tav well and truly cares about you. In perhaps the purest way possible. Treat that carefully.”

Part of Astarion wanted to laugh aloud in utter hopelessness at the wizard’s advice. Someone cared for him? Truly and purely? No hidden games, no strings attached? Oh certainly, that wouldn’t be a problem for Astarion at all. Obviously, his 200-year existence as a master-manipulator-fetch-hound for a power-hungry vampire lord had perfectly prepared him to respond to this situation in a healthy manner. Obviously.

But all that was too much to reveal to someone he barely knew and too heavy to say aloud. Rather than giving some smarmy retort, Astarion opted instead to give a stiff nod and continue walking toward the edge of camp. He had no idea how he could make things right with Tav, but at the very least he could try. 

***

He found Tav sitting on a fallen tree near the edge of the creek bed. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she rested a cheek to her knees. In the waning twilight, she reminded Astarion of some misbegotten gargoyle perched on the roof of a temple, solitary and so very sad. 

Her ears twitched as she noted his arrival. Astarion wasn’t trying to be stealthy. On top of everything else, the last thing he needed to do was scare her. 

“Can I join you?” he asked softly, wincing to himself at the awkwardness of the question. 

The reality was that there was no way to broach this conversation without some stilted beginning, and he hated it. Navigating tricky conversations was normally something he excelled at. But as he was quickly finding, when it related to Tav, nothing in his past life had prepared him to respond to her well. 

“If you’d like,” Tav answered tonelessly. 

Knowing it was probably the best response he was going to get, Astarion swallowed thickly and moved to sit down on the log next to her. 

“I… wanted to… apologize for what you saw, back at camp,” he began.

“Apologize for doing it, or apologize for getting caught?” Tav asked as she turned her head to look at him, resting her other cheek on her knees. 

Astarion balked at the question. Her piercing gaze unnerved him. He hadn’t really thought that far. 

“Both, I suppose?” he answered honestly, although it sounded more like a question to Tav. She huffed a laugh.

“You know, part of me really wants to yell at you. Scream in your face. Tell you off proper,” she mused.

“So why don’t you?” Astarion asked, perplexed. 

Tav didn’t respond at first, just sat there studying him. As if by staring at him long enough, she could project the answer into his mind. 

Astarion didn’t interrupt her, much as he would have liked to. Part of him always bristled when people gazed at him for too long. It was unfair that they could study him, when he hadn’t been able to so much as glance at his reflection in over 200 years. 

Finally, Tav released a heavy sigh, her body curling further in on itself. She closed her eyes as she spoke.

“Because then I would be just like every other bastard in your life who’s mistreated you.”

Astarion flinched in surprise. Those had not been the sort of words he’d been expecting. The truth of them cut deeper than had she raged at him like she wanted to. It left him feeling even more vulnerable, and that in turn made him want to retreat into the comfort of viciousness.

“I don’t need you to pull any punches,” he scoffed, glaring at her. “Go ahead and say what you will.”

She straightened up at his tone, opening her eyes and returning his glare. 

“No. I don’t want to,” she said testily.

“I don’t need your pity,” he hissed. “It’s insulting.”

“Gods damn it all, Astarion!” Tav exclaimed suddenly, causing him to jump in surprise. She threw her hands up in defeat. “I’m not doing anything out of pity! I don’t want to rage at you, because I know that whatever I say right now, I won’t mean it come the morning!”

Astarion blinked. Once again he was left feeling flat footed by the turn of the conversation. Sensing his surprise, Tav continued on with her deluge of words.

“You hurt me tonight, and I’m angry at you - and at Gale, for that matter - for what you did. But you’ve shared enough of your… history… with me, that I realize your behavior is just… just a byproduct of centuries of abuse and manipulation you’ve endured! And I won’t be another abuser in your life. I won’t,” she asserted. 

Astarion continued staring at her, as if she were some otherworldly creature that had just wandered across his path. He watched as Tav inhaled a deep breath, releasing it shakily. She turned away from him to peer out into the forest, uncertain. She opened and closed her mouth several times before actually speaking. As if whatever she was about to say was more intimidating to her than anything else she’d said tonight. 

“I… care deeply for you, Astarion,” she said quietly. “You obviously saw that in the vision. I’m not playing any games. There’s no hidden motive. I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

She turned to look at him again before continuing, her breathing a bit unsteady. 

“I didn’t sleep with you that night of the tiefling party as some sort of maneuver to gain your trust. Although I understand if that was your motivation for doing so.” 

Astarion’s expression morphed into one of guilt. But Tav nodded soberly, as if she had already expected it, before continuing on. 

“It’s okay. I’m not angry. But I’m putting all my cards on the table now, so to speak. Actually, your decision tonight forced my hand, but I had been planning on telling you soon anyway. So, there you have it. The truth of my intentions. What you do with that information is up to you.”

She turned back to gaze out at their surroundings. Like she was giving him the opportunity to bolt away without her watching him. As if she expected him to flee from her confession. 

But Astarion didn’t flee. He remained seated, staring at her in complete wonderment. 

“Why?” he asked quietly.

She looked back at him again, confusion evident on her face. 

“Why what?”

“Why do you care for me? You’re so… well-adjusted. And I’m well… this,” he finished lamely, placing a hand on his chest. 

Tav pursed her lips. “It would be a mistake to misconstrue my empathy for you as me being well-adjusted. Everyone has their own demons, Astarion,” she murmured. “Mine just look different from yours.”

Astarion mulled her words over in his mind, considering them. He leaned forward to brace his forearms on his knees, his head drooping slightly. 

“I…,” he started, unsure. “That vision… what it implied… You deserve something real, Tav. You’re incredible… truly.” 

Tav closed her eyes, bracing for the fallout. Even though she would accept his decision, whatever it was, she didn’t think she could bear to watch him deny her. It would hurt too much. 

“Look. When we met, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan,” he blurted all at once. Rising swiftly to his feet, Tav watched as he began to pace before her, near to bursting with frenetic energy. 

“Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me,” he counted off, laughing half-heartedly. “It was… easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do… was not fall for you… which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart,” he finished, stopping to stand before her. 

She held his gaze, speechless. 

“I want you,” he whispered fervently. “I want what was in that vision… I want us to be something real.”

Never in a million years had she thought he would respond to her like this. She opened her mouth to speak, but Astarion cut her off with another sudden exclamation. 

“I just don’t know what real is,” he confessed, his tone a touch hysterical. Tav knew from his body language that being this transparent was completely out of Astarion’s comfort zone. 

“Being… close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back. For him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust, and loathing. I… I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to,” he finished, staring at her with beseeching eyes, willing her to understand.

Tav rose to her feet, coming to stand before him. 

“I don’t want you for your body,” she whispered. “Or to perform any acts of intimacy. We can be together, without sleeping together, for as long as you need.”

“Really,” he asked softly, his voice pitched low, rough with emotion.

“Really,” Tav asserted, giving him a small smile. “Would it be all right if…” she paused, conflicted. He eyed her curiously.

“Could I hug you?” she whispered.

The fact that she asked before doing so caused a well of emotion to spring up inside him. Eyes watering, Astarion nodded. 

Slowly, Tav moved forward to wrap her arms around his waist. Her head nestled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. A perfect fit. He felt her exhale a deep sigh.

Tav hugging him was a sensation unlike any he had ever felt. At least, any he could remember feeling. The act of being touched, embraced, without any desire for something more. She just wanted to hold him, feel him close to her. It was incomprehensible to him, but utterly enjoyable, at the same time. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Astarion raised his arms to return Tav’s embrace. Drawing her even closer, he bowed his head to rest his cheek against her hair. It was soft, like the finest silk. He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, appreciating her sweet, floral scent.   

She made to pull away after a moment, not wishing to overwhelm him. But Astarion gripped her more firmly, a silent urge for them to stay that way a little longer. 

“This… this is nice,” he whispered. 

He both felt and heard Tav hum contentedly in response. 

It wasn’t identical to the vision from Tav’s mind that he had seen, but Astarion reveled in their embrace nonetheless. It felt like the beginning of something new. And for the first time in his very, very long life, Astarion felt excited at the prospects of what would come next. 

[lovelybluebirdie]

The pale chef

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion attempts to cook for you, but things don’t go as planned.

Word Count: 1,7k

A/N: I got the idea that Astarion naturally struggles with preparing food, so I had to write some fluff about it! Hope you enjoy :)

[ AO3 ]

Astarion stirred the pot in concentration, holding a wooden spoon in his hand and wondering what exactly he was doing here. 

This whole endeavour resulted from your constant need to be nice to him, he thought with a sigh – apparently it made him want to be nice as well. 

It started the other day when you mentioned how you would kill for a mushroom soup. At first he thought nothing of it, but for some reason the idea stuck to his head, so Astarion decided to roam the forest and gather some mushrooms. Unfortunately it turned out rather quickly that he lacked essential knowledge on the matter, so he had to consult Gale of all people. 

Putting his pride aside, he asked through gritted teeth which ones were edible and which to avoid, since he had no desire to poison you by accident. Due to Gale being Gale, the wizard not only lectured him on different kinds of fungi, he had also given a detailed instruction on the soup’s recipe.

Astarion chuckled at the absurdity of the scene. He had never thought that one day he'd voluntarily prepare food for another person – and yet he found himself bending over the hearth and mixing different ingredients, hoping for the best.

He even wore an apron borrowed from said wizard, therefore he was more than glad that his companions had left for a supply run, while you were waiting in your shared tent so he could attempt this little surprise in solitude.

Gale's voice echoed in his mind: Chop the mushrooms, add them to the broth, stir until thickened, season with salt and pepper and sprinkle a few herbs on top – that’s it! Absolutely foolproof, even for someone who prefers to appease their hunger solely with blood.

The mushrooms had been the easiest part. His dexterous fingers cut them into perfectly bite-sized pieces, but Astarion bloody forgot how long the meal should rest on the fire.

Suddenly a burning smell lingered in the air, and he sensed in horror that the soup was boiling over.

“Fuck!” He grabbed the pot with haste and put it away from the heat.

Well, he thought as he gazed at the bubbling mass, that probably meant it was done.

With utmost care not to spill more of his precious loot, he grabbed a ladle and filled a large portion for you. If he already took the effort for such a novelty, you should at least get your belly full.

Astarion slipped out of the apron and made his way back to you. He assumed you were already growing impatient, as this entire affair had consumed far more time than he had anticipated.

“Hello, darling,” he purred when entering your tent, skilfully balancing the bowl in his hand. 

“Finally! I thought you'd kept me waiting all night – wait, what's that?” You put the book you were reading aside and eyed the dish in his hands.

“I’m not quite sure myself, but according to Gale's recipe it should resemble a mushroom soup.”

Your eyes lit up. “Hold on – you prepared this for me? You know that’s my favourite, right?”

“I suppose I do.” Astarion offered you the soup with a coy smile. “Although you should remember that I’m not particularly versed in the culinary arts, so it might be best to treat this with caution.”

You took the bowl from his slender fingers. “Hah, let me be the judge of that! Besides, it was about damn time you returned the favour of feeding me for once, hm?”

“I couldn’t try it myself for obvious reasons, but I doubt that this could compete with your delicious blood,” Astarion replied jokingly and sat next to you, curiously watching as you sniffed the soup.

“Smells not bad…” you affirmed while blowing on the steaming broth resting on your spoon. “Now comes the delicate part – the taste test.”

The spoon disappeared in your mouth, and suddenly your face twisted into a grimace. You swallowed hard, a cough forcing its way through your pressed lips.

Astarion couldn’t help but snort over your clumsy attempt to keep the soup inside. “So – I sense I failed you miserably?”

“What? No – I mean, it’s not… terrible,” you stuttered. “It’s… Well – did you let it burn by chance?”

“Maybe.” He dragged out the syllables dramatically and shrugged. “Be honest, my dead heart surely can take it – shall we save this mess for Scratch and the owlbear?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed with widened eyes. “I’m not hesitant to share, but not something you specially made for me. Also, some things tend to get better once you get used to the flavour, you know.” 

Before Astarion could intervene, you put another spoon to your mouth and eagerly gulped it down, followed by a second and a third. 

“There’s certainly room for improvement,” you eventually muttered with full cheeks, “but it’s not that bad.”

“I’m afraid you’re a poor liar, my love.” Astarion gently grasped your wrist to prevent you from taking another mouthful. “So please let me stop you right there, before you seriously upset your gut. I’m sure we can get you something more nutritious for the evening.” Then he took the spoon from your hand and put the bowl aside.

“If you insist,” you said with fondness in your eyes while wiping soup from the corner of your mouth. “But honestly – thank you, Astarion. This was… unexpectedly sweet.”

Heat rose to his ears as he rested his hand on your stomach, starting to draw circles. “Well, let's just hope my failed culinary attempt won't kill you tonight.”

“I guess in that case Lae’zel would avenge me, so you’d better start preparing yourself.”

“Mh… You think she’d stake me?” Astarion questioned and continued to caress your belly.

“Who knows what her creativity will lead to in the end. Knowing Lae’zel, she’d probably come up with something worse,” you pondered while tapping your chin. “But I guess you wouldn't let your preferred blood supply die that easily after all, would you?”

“Oh, don't sell yourself so short,” Astarion countered in feigned bewilderment. “You know that you mean way more to me than that.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, you also keep me warm at night, sparing me the coin for a thicker blanket. You know how expensive those things can get.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with his response. “And if you had to give a genuine answer this time?”

Astarion clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I thought my sentiments were rather obvious by now.”

“And yet I don't seem to tire of hearing your appreciation for me,” you teased.

“Getting greedy now, aren’t we? Fine, you're ... quite decent. Despite your constant need to do something heroic, of course.”

You poked his shoulder and turned away with an exaggerated pout.

Astarion chuckled, before he cleared his throat. “Alright – perhaps you’re more than that.” 

He drew you in his arms and breathed against your cheek. “One might also say you're the first person I truly came to care about. Deeply.”

Your lips brushed over his contours, searching for his own until you kissed him tenderly. “See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Astarion rested a peck on your forehead and embraced you closer, a pleasant flutter spreading in his chest. 

You were right, he thought as his lips curled into an affectionate smile – with you, everything seemed surprisingly easy these days.

*

The next morning Astarion woke to a rumbling. He opened his eyes and could only make out your silhouette as you hastily rushed outside, leaving the flap of your tent wide open.

“Love, are you alright?” he asked in concern and immediately got up to follow you.

“Don't worry, I’m fine,” you huffed under your breath.

Astarion knelt beside you in the grass and frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I said… it’s alright…” You gagged between your words. “But perhaps the soup… Ugh–”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion said softly, when he noticed that you were still wearing his shirt from the other night. “And for the love of the gods – please be careful not to stain my clothes.”

“That's what you’re most concerned about right now?”

“No, of course not! But – That’s my favourite,” Astarion mumbled while he reached for your hair, smoothing it back over your shoulders.

“FANGS, what did you do to her?!” Karlach’s voice erupted like a thunderstorm from the other side of the camp as she spotted the two of you.

“Nothing – I only prepared some soup for her last night!”

“Shadowheart! Hurry up, we need you – Astarion poisoned our leader!” Karlach was already marching in the cleric's direction.

“What – no!” You both spoke almost simultaneously, causing you to laugh.

“I seem to have a sensible stomach,” you managed to add before retching again.

Astarion turned serious as he rested his hand on your back. “I'm terribly sorry, my love. That wasn’t meant to happen at all.”

You offered a weak smirk. “I know, and I appreciate the thought. Besides, that means your next dish can only improve.”

Astarion gazed at you in disbelief. “You’d consider letting me cook again after this entire debacle? Those mushrooms must have gone to your beautiful head.”

“Well, on second thought–” You couldn't finish your sentence as your stomach’s content finally emptied onto the grass.

Astarion felt a twist at his ribcage seeing you like this. “We’d better make sure I haven’t actually poisoned you, shall we? – SHADOWHEART! Get yourself over here – now!” 

“I'M ON MY WAY!” Shadowheart shouted from afar.

“I think the worst is already over–” you began to explain, when another voice cut you off.

“Tsk’va! What is going on?” Lae’zel poked her head from her tent, obviously annoyed by the sudden tumult.

“Please, don’t let her stake me,” Astarion whispered and continued to stroke your back.

“Be glad that I love you, otherwise I’d probably let her get away with it this time,” you replied mischievously.

Astarion’s chest filled with warmth as he grasped for your hand. “My sweet, I truly am.” Then he bowed his head to place a kiss on your hair. “And I love you too. So much in fact, that I might consider forgiving you for ruining my shirt.”

You squeezed his hand and grinned. “Prick.”

Astarion returned your grin before his expression turned soft. “But honestly, I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

Next time he would surprise you with something less nauseating, he thought as his fingers entwined with yours – a safe choice like bringing another stray to your camp, or a nice perfume perhaps.

Masterlist

[wriothesleysgf]

𖹭 ࣪ 𓈒 ⊹ cough syrup — wriothesley ₊ ◌ ۪ ࣪

ᝰ .ᐟ ꩜ fortress of meropide gets intense cold spells, but everything is bearable when you have a loving man to keep you warm. ⟢ [ f ! reader , sfw . ]

fall always came with a shift towards colder weather. the leaves began to brown and the sweet tunes of fontaine's songbirds were carried by gentle gales. then winter snuck up ever so unsuspectingly; divination experts and meteorologists alike began to predict snowfall, and the court's streets became bustling with those preparing for the upcoming holidays. you, however, were rarely privy to any of this.

such an infatuation with the lord of meropide meant that you spent a significant portion of your year in the ocean's depths. although you'd initially been terrified of the deep sea and what unknowns lurked there, wriothesley quelled your fears and managed to enlighten you as to the true beauty of life down here. whether it was watching the jellyfish float about or cheering on up and coming fighters in the pankration ring, the man truly managed to make you feel at home all the way down here.

the one thing that you'd never managed to get used to, however, was the damn cold. sure, you'd experienced the same transformation in weather when you were living in the overworld, but such a change was more intense down here. wriothesley was accustomed to it after all of his years in the fortress so it took him a second to realize why you opted to stay bundled up in the warm sheets of the bed that you shared.

"doll, is everything okay?" he asked, looking over at you as he picked out his shirt for the day— it would surprise some how many greyscale button ups he owned.

"mhm," you hummed, not wanting to worry the man before he headed off to deal with the necessary duties for the day. however, once he heard the small sneezes coming from you, he noticed what was most likely going on.

"you cold, baby?" he cooes, finding your small nod adorable. you were buried in the sheets at this point, with only your eyes peeking over the top of your pile of blankets.

wriothesley wasted not a moment in striding back over to you. he lifted the blankets and came directly to you, wrapping his large arms around your figure and pulling you into his broad chest. though many assume those with cryo visions tend to run on the chillier side, wriothesley's size and stature had him radiating a fair amount of heat at all times.

"you're freezing," he comments.

"'s so cold down here... i thought i'd get used to it but... clearly not."

he chuckles softly, walking back towards the bed. he shrugs off his coat and removes his boots before sitting down next to you. "come here, love," he pats his thighs.

you oblige, crawling into his lap. of course, the pile of blankets come with you. wriothesley finds it absolutely adorable. he fawned over you, ensuring that the blankets were positioned to perform at peak efficiency. he did debate running ti the infirmary to see if sigewinne had any hot water bottles that he could borrow, but couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone for a second.

"bless you, doll," he cooes as you sneeze once again. wriothesley reaches over to his waistcoat, retrieving a small hankerchief from his pocket. to be honest, it was rare that he needed to use it himself, rather keeping the object on him at all times should you ever require it. "why don't you try to sleep, sweetheart? i'm not going anywhere,"

"but what about-" you tried to protest, knowing he most likely has work that he needs to tend to.

however, before you could even finish, he cuts you off in one of the most caring tones that only few were privy to. "you're always my priority, princess. everything else can wait; i guess that's a perk of being the warden," he chuckles softly.

you decide to not protest, curling into wriothesley's lap and resting your head on him. it was quite easy to doze off with the combination of his hand against your hair and the lullaby of his heartbeat.

© kentofairy — please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my posts. this includes posting to wattpad / tiktok or other platforms.

[elspethdekarios]

Writing Prompt -

Gale and Elspeth are in the Great Library doing their own research and trying to ignore each other - They have had a bit of a falling out, and are giving each other they silent treatment until the other apologises.

aaaaaand what if they fucked afterwards?

Alright alright I see you. Enjoy 💖

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Pairing: Gale x Female Tav (named)

Word count: 2038

Rating: NSFW!!! 🔞

Warnings: PiV sex, angst, angry sex, makeup sex

The air was heavy in the grand library in the Temple of Oghma, perhaps because of the incense permeating from the main floor below, or perhaps because of the tension between Gale and Elspeth. Beams of afternoon sun shone through the windows, illuminating dust and particles floating about. Gale stood by the wall, alternating between propping his book up on a nearby shelf and pacing with it in his hands. Every few minutes, he’d let out a huff to blow the stray strands of hair out of his eyes, increasingly agitated at its unruliness. He found himself fidgeting with the book’s pages or absentmindedly combing through his beard, distracted not by thought, but emotion. He had read the same page three times now and retained none of it.

Elspeth emerged from the towering rows with two antique books, purposefully strutting past Gale, robes swishing behind her, as she sat at a desk facing away from him. She refused to make eye contact until he apologized for how he acted that morning. Their usual end-of-tenday morning walk to the library was marked by silence and rigid hand-holding–no discussion of the day’s plans or playful banter. Occasionally one of them would remark on something happening around them, the other only responding with a firm “hm.” 

A few other patrons were scattered throughout the library’s halls, the only sounds those of pages flipping and the occasional cough. The librarian, an aged devotee of Oghma, sat at her usual high desk, spectacles sitting on the very tip of her nose as she wrote in a ledger. She did not ever engage in small talk with the library’s patrons, but the few times Gale or Elspeth needed help finding a particular book, her stern mouth would curl into a smile and she’d speak in excited whispers about the library’s collection. She often greeted them with a head nod, and sometimes a quiet “Mr. and Mrs. Dekarios.”

Elspeth kept her head down, trying to scan the book’s pages for any mentions of infernal machinery, but words were foreign symbols on parchment to her, jumbled and meaningless. Her thoughts kept snapping back to Gale. She unpacked a quill and began to take notes, hoping the motion might help her stay focused. But her parchment remained mostly blank, and when she heard Gale shutting his book behind her, she slumped back in her chair, frustrated with the lack of progress. Frustrated, still, with him.

After an hour in the library, Gale had successfully read four pages of the newest published studies on time-altering illusion spells–next week’s lesson for his advanced students. He couldn’t force himself through it any longer. He approached El, admiring the way her shiny, platinum hair reflected the sunlight, forgetting for a moment that he was angry with her. He resisted the natural urge to touch her–to massage her tense shoulders or lift her chin up for a kiss. She was incredibly stubborn, that much he knew, but she owed him an apology. And no matter how badly he wanted to feel her near him, he would wait for that apology.

“Are you checking those out?” he asked as he stood next to the desk, gesturing to the books. She only nodded and slid them on top of the large tome Gale held in his arms. Gale brought their books to  the main desk and the librarian stamped a magical glyph on the inside of each book’s cover. He returned to El, handing her the two small books she had selected.

“Surprised you trust me with books at all anymore,” she mumbled as she slid them into her bag. “But these aren’t your books, so I suppose it’s different.”

“Yes, El, it is different.” His voice, though a normal volume, sliced through the quiet library, earning him a few stares and a “shush” from the librarian. “It is different,” he repeated, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Presumably you won’t throw them out with the bathwater.”

“I hardly threw it out, Gale!”

“Shh!” came from the librarian’s desk and somewhere further away in the room.

“What do you call it, then?” Gale whisper-shouted.

“I call it ‘donating-books-to-an-orphanage,’ as a matter of fact,” she whispered back.

“Well now you’re just making me sound like an asshole.”

“You’re being one.” El shoved her belongings into the bag and turned heel, Gale matching her stride.

“El–let’s just go to the orphanage and ask for it back. We can forget this little spat of ours, get the book back–no harm done.”

“I am not–”

“Mr. and Mrs. Dekarios.” The librarian appeared before them, short and slender, pointed ears peaking through her silvered hair. “You would do well to remember that this is a library. If you must argue, then I must ask you to leave the Temple. You’ll be most welcome once you can follow the rules again.

Gale and Elspeth marched down the stairs and through the Temple in silence. Once outside and out of earshot of the priests, El turned to her husband, his windswept hair and the peak of collarbone through his robes almost making her forget their quarrel. She pushed the thoughts aside as Gale began crossing the street to Blackstaff Tower, motioning her to follow.

“I am not walking into an orphanage and demanding part of my donation back, Gale! Do you hear yourself?”

“I have no desire to take anything away from an orphaned child,” he said, pushing open the heavy oak doors. “But it’s one book–a book most likely too advanced to be of use to them. And I didn’t give you permission to donate it!”

“You gave me permission to donate the stack collecting dust in the cellar.”

“Yes, because they’re children’s books–I didn’t realize my first edition copy of Abjuration Accolades Through the Ages was on top!”

“That’s not my fault!” 

El followed Gale up the spiraling stone staircase, the building noticeably quiet as their voices and footsteps echoed. Out of breath, they reached Gale’s office.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” El lamented, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes were remorseful as she looked at him, silently begging for this feud to be over, but refusing to be the one to apologize. “You should have checked the stack first before agreeing.”

With a quick wave of his hand, Gale’s office door shut and locked itself. He stepped forward to where Elspeth leaned against the side of his desk, sliding one hand around her waist and using the other to push her hair away from her neck, baring the flesh for him to trail breathy, warm kisses from collar to ear. 

“Gale, we–we’re–” she began to protest, to remind him that they were still arguing. But she melted at his mouth on her skin, the scent of sandalwood dabbed behind his ears so close and potent that she forgot about their quarrel in an instant. She breathed out his name, clutching the back of his robes briefly before undoing its buttons and sliding it off his shoulders, revealing the toned forearms that always made her come undone.

In a quick movement, he had her on the desk, the books and bottles of ink vanishing with a hand gesture. His fingers trailed beneath the sleeves of her robe, pulling them down just enough to expose her shoulders. The sweet musk of her skin set his pulse racing as he sighed into her shoulder, taking desperate mouthfuls of her and leaving scarlet marks bursting beneath her skin. While his mouth wandered, his hands pushed up her robes, expecting to pull off the leggings she’d normally wear underneath. Beneath the fabric, however, was nothing.

“How scandalous of you, Mrs. Dekarios,” he teased, pushing her legs up for a full view of her cunt, glistening just for him. He ran a finger through her and grazed his lips softly against the pointed tip of her ear, his voice deep and quiet. “Almost like you wanted to be fucked on my desk.”

She could have come with those words alone. Already, the gentle circles he drew around that most sensitive spot threatened to send her over the edge. Whimpering and biting her lip in an attempt to reign herself in, she reached down to feel him, hard and eager beneath his trousers. She slipped the tied leather beneath her fingers and pulled the waistband loose, savoring the silky, hot skin of his cock in her hand. Gale moaned into her neck.

“Maybe I thought I could coax an apology out of you.”

“Hm,” he chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

Before Elspeth could respond, he thrust himself into her, sending a wave of pleasure through her entire body as she held herself up on the desk and clutched Gale’s arm. She cried out, thankful they hadn’t seen a soul in the Tower on their way up, and not caring that there could be others in adjacent rooms overhearing them. Gale lifted her leg up, heeled boot resting against his shoulder as his hips moved rhythmically against her exposed bottom half.

Oh, she was angry with him. His suave words and bedroom eyes and beautiful cock that she worshiped, second only to her deity. Godsdamn him, smoothing over their argument by splaying her out on his desk and half undressing her, knowing the frustration she felt would melt away with a few magic words and a good fuck. It always did–though this was the only time that he had been the subject of her anger since starting their lives together.

But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t hoping for this.

Gale’s own frustration was dissipating with every thrust. In truth, he knew he should apologize, but that realization only came about when he saw El’s ecstasy as he plunged into her. She was more special to him than an old book–than any book, really. He couldn’t be angry with her now if he tried. Truly testing El’s flexibility, he leaned forward, squishing her upright leg between them, and kissed her madly. His tongue lapped at the inside of her mouth, his moans harder to suppress, and he felt her hand slip between their bodies, finding the center of her pleasure. It was only seconds until she cried out. Her body tensed and her warmth pulsed around him, his release spilling into her as he groaned and clutched her close to him, the two of them finding their climax in perfect unison. 

Elspeth lowered herself to rest her back to the desk, still holding Gale as he lay atop her, panting into her chest. She smoothed out his now-disheveled hair as she caught her own breath, gently combing through the graying strands behind his ears. He raised his head to gaze at her.

“I’m sorry–” they both said in tandem. Giggling, he urged her to speak first.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have been more discerning.”

“No, love,” he said, reaching up to caress her cheek. “I’m sorry. I acted like a right fool. It was ludacris of me to suggest we ask the orphanage for the book back. The orphanage, of all places.” He shook his head in disapproval of himself.

“I know your books are important to you. I promise it won’t happen again, Gale.”

“And I promise to remember that you are more important to me than any book, first edition or otherwise.” He kissed the wrist of the hand resting in his hair. “Your generosity is one of my favorite things about you. I’d do well to take notes.”

He lifted himself up from the desk and extended his hands, pulling El up to her feet. 

“Well, my love,” he said as he redid the ties of his pants. “What else does the day hold for us?”

Elspeth smoothed out her robes and her hair, hoping she didn’t look too hot and bothered. “Let’s go to the bookstore. We can get you something new to fill the book-shaped void.”

Gale broke into a wide smile and pulled his beautiful wife into a deep hug, thanking the gods that she came into his life. 

“Does that sound okay to you?” she asked as he loosened his hold.

“That sounds absolutely perfect.”

Hand-in-hand, they walked back out into the City of Splendors.

[idle-soliloquy]

Prison AU (?)

TW: Attempted SA (not between Gale and John), violence.

About 4 hours ago, this idea hit me like a freight train. I think I might turn it into a full fic, but for now... here it comes.

After years of suffering abuse at the hands of his father, Gale finally snaps. He’s had enough, and for the first time, he decides to fight back. 

With little mercy—not that his father deserves any—he doles out the punches. His mother is there, watching, screaming at the top of her lungs and begging them both to cut it out, but it’s far too late. It’s vicious and heated, a rabid fight for survival. A fight to the death, as it turns out. 

The facts of the case are indisputable—after a push to the chest, James Cleven falls back and hits his head, cracking his skull on the tiled kitchen floor, dying instantly. 

Gale’s lawyer claims self-defence, leaning on the years of abuse as mitigating circumstances. The murder charge gets changed to voluntary manslaughter. Gale is sentenced to five years in prison, with the possibility of parole. 

Heading for the prison gates, Gale’s aware of his vulnerability. He’s young, has no prior history of violence, no connections inside the joint, or in the criminal world outside of it. He’s distinctly alone—there’s no one he can count on to stand by him when (not if) things get out of hand. Afraid, but ready to stand up for himself, he enters. 

He’s placed in a cell with a young man named Curt, who’s loud and brash, but ultimately friendly. It quickly becomes apparent that prison life has its own intricate set of rules. Observing the ebb and flow of inmates and their daily interactions, he notices a couple of prominent groups emerge from the more passive crowd, including a respected ‘gang’ of inmates that call themselves the 100th, with a man called Bucky at the helm. 

Gale’s wary of him.  According to his bunkmate, Bucky’s swell. But how can one be swell, if they murdered a man in cold blood in the middle of a train station? 

In the chow hall during breakfast, and out in the yard, Gale can feel Bucky’s eyes sliding across his back like a hot poker. It’s unnerving. Makes Gale’s teeth stand on edge. Bucky’s illicit presence is like a blazing cocoon of (un)wanted attention that settles around Gale’s shoulders, and stays there no matter his disgruntlement with its weight.  

As the days go by, Gale keeps his distance, but can’t deny that he’s horribly intrigued. Why won’t Bucky come to him, if he’s so bothered? Curt says it’s cause Bucky never forces anything. Gale should be the one to come to him. That’s just the way things are done around here. 

Gale’s too proud to bite the bullet and reach out. So, they keep circling each other, Bucky always somehow in Gale’s vicinity, and Gale standing on attention, his unreasonable heart hammering in his chest when he spots the other man out of the corner of his eye. 

A couple of weeks into his incarceration, the dreaded moment comes: Gale is set upon by one of the other prominent gangs in the prison hierarchy, one with a less pleasant reputation than Bucky’s lot. At first, he holds his own, but things are looking bleak. Roughed up and swaying, Gale’s strength is close to waning, when—

Three guards step out of the shadows, and break up the fight. Chaos ensues, but the attackers are quickly corralled, and the main offender is sent off kicking and screaming. 

A figure looms at the periphery. With one eye nearly swollen shut, Gale watches Bucky come closer, with Curt hot on his heels, and... lets himself be helped, lifted off the ground. He hates it, viscerally, but his body’s aching and there’s bile in the back of his throat. He’s acutely aware of what Bucky’s just saved him from. 

His jaw is so tense it’s clammed shut. He wants to thank him, but the only pathetic sound he’s able to force out is a wheezing cough. 

Bucky rubs his shoulder, helps him get the tremors under control. 

“You’re alright. It’s gonna be alright,” he says, tone soothing. His piercing gaze is gone, replaced with a swell of tenderness.  

After a trip to the infirmary, Gale gets back to his cell and crawls into his bunk. He can’t sleep, staring at the ceiling, mind in a perpetual whirl. 

He hears Curt roll out of his bed and tiptoe across the room. 

“You alright?” 

 The blooming bruise above Gale’s right eyelid pulses like a living thing. He looks at Curt, and nods with little conviction. 

“You know it was him, right?” Curt says. 

“What?” Gale swallows. “What do you mean, him?” 

Curt points to his battered face. “The guards. They came to save your ass cause Bucky called.” 

“You’re shitting me.” 

“Cross my heart, hope to die. It was him, alright. And when you were in the infirmary, one of the guys from the 100th was standing watch.” 

“Why?” asks Gale, breathless. 

“Cause Bucky’s told him to.” 

Gale shudders. Of course, Bucky’s got the guards at his beck and call. Gale’s done nothing so far but ignored the man, but he’s still dispatched them like it was nothing, like it didn’t cost him anything, which Gale knows cannot be true; here, every favour is a trade. In one way or another, Bucky’s paying for Gale’s protection. 

“You have to get yourself sorted out, man,” Curt whispers. “It’s gonna happen again, you know that. We can’t keep an eye on you 24 fucking 7, unless—” 

“What am I supposed to do?” 

“The only thing you can do. Get yourself under Bucky’s protection. It’s the safest place to be. No one in the 100th holds with rape, it’s pretty much the only rule we go by.”

“And what do I have to do in exchange for his protection?” Gale asks through gritted teeth, expecting the worst. 

Curt frowns. “I just told you we don’t hold with rape. Nothing. Be a part of the group, uphold the code. Protect others in turn.” 

It sounds too good to be true. 

Curt won’t stop talking, praise after praise pouring out of him. You’d think he is Bucky’s biggest fan, and maybe that’s exactly the case, and for a good reason too. Gale learns that Curt went through a similar ordeal, but since he’s been running with Bucky no one has dared to touch him. But the final straw turns ot to be the full story of how Bucky’s landed himself in prison: the man he’s murdered in cold blood raped and killed his teenage sister. Bucky chased him across the country, from Wisconsin to Wyoming, after the man was acquitted due to lack of evidence. 

“I’ll talk to Bucky first, let him know you’re coming,” Curt suggests, and Gale, swallowing down his pride, agrees. 

A strange thing happens the next day—Gale’s moved from his cell to a new one, with cleaner, sturdier walls, and a bed that doesn’t creak and wail with every shift of his body. He’s even got a proper pillow, all fluffed up, with a mint chocolate placed neatly in its centre. 

His new bunkmate is none other than Bucky himself. 

“Curt came in for a chat this morning. Said you wanted to see me,” Bucky says from the doorway. “I pulled a few strings and got you moved in here for now. Better keep an eye on you.”

Bridling, Gale turns away, but doesn’t mouth off. Doesn’t want to come off ungrateful.

“So—” Bucky says when Gale remains silent. “What do you wanna chat about? I am all yours.” With a wink, he sits on his bunk bed, arms crossed on his chest, head cocked to the side. 

The words barely crawl out of Gale’s mouth. “Let me join you. Protect me,” he says, “and I’ll stand by your side.” 

Bucky smiles, a wicked glint to his eyes. “What’s your name?” 

“You don't know it?” 

“A name is something willingly given.” 

Gale blinks, bewildered. “It’s Gale—” 

Bucky barks out a laugh, and shakes his head. “Gotta give you a new one, a proper prison name. A name like Gale’s gonna get your ass kicked even with my protection.” 

“How am I supposed to—” 

“Your name is Buck from now on.” 

“What?” Gale gapes at him, frozen to his spot by the tiny sink, nails biting into the heels of his palms. “You gave me your name?” 

“Gotta clean out these pretty ears of yours, Buck, or are you hard of hearing? It’s an entirely different word. I’m Bucky, you’re Buck. With a name like that, there’s gonna be no doubt who you belong to.” 

More to come (maybe) to ao3 near you… 

Thanks to @angelfruittree for being the best brainrotting partner, and @nicijones and @don-humes-tiny-shorts for their brilliant suggestions on what crimes Gale and John would be capable of. Kissing your brains!

[hijackalx]

Another headcanon round! How would Astarion, Gale, and Gortash respond to their lover getting sick?

ASTARION

he definitely thinks you’re overreacting at first 😹😹 he’ll say stuff like “stop being a baby 🙄 it’s just a small cold” OR he treats you like you’re radioactive because he’s scared of catching it himself 😹 but once he realizes it’s serious i feel like he’s lowkey so sweet…. he doesn’t know which herbs will soothe your stomach ache or the best ways to bring your fever down but he tries so hard 😭❤️ bless his heart for real. he worries about you SO MUCH MORE than he lets on. he’ll consistently check on how you’re feeling or ask you what you need. once you’re back in good health he absolutely teases you with shit like “you would have died without me” LMFAO (the correct response is to tease him back about what an anxiety-ridden mess he was)

GALE

SOUP. SO MUCH SOUP 😹😹😹 he is 100% convinced that a good bowl of soup ALONE will cure anything— as long as he makes it. he takes your illness with a lot of grace actually, i feel like that’s because he knows exactly what to do. he kind of turns into a doting mother 😹. will make sure you stay comfortable, well-fed, and always get your medicine on time. at first it’s really nice— it’ll have you wishing you got sick more often lmao. although i do think he can get a bit overbearing with it. like he doesn’t really believe you when you say you’re feeling better. you have to prove to him you’re fine, and even then he’ll give you some skeptical glances 😹 don’t even think about casually coughing or sneezing around him either, you better hold it back for dear life

GORTASH

he personally won’t take care of you (he’s pretty busy) but will make sure his servants aren’t lacking for even a SECOND. you’re getting around the clock care i’m talking massages, meals in bed, hell even entertainment 😹😹 you want a puppet show? boom. three seconds later people are scrambling to put together a puppet show like their lives depend on it (it does). it honestly doesn’t matter how sick you actually are, he always wants you at the best that you can be, so you WILL be getting top-notch treatment no matter what 😹 he comes to check on you multiple times a day and will make sure you don’t have any complaints lol. unless you’re extremely ill he’s not super concerned, only because he’s confident in his ability to keep his staff in shape 😹😹

[alienoresimagines]

I wish you would write a fic (canon era, modern au, any setting really) where Buck is sick and Bucky fusses over him. Maybe with Buck’s head in Bucky’s lap?

I loved your fic of Bucky watching Buck sleep, so anything with that type of vibe? ❤️

I don't know the difference between a snippet and an actual fic so this is 1.4k 😅 But hey, Gale's awake for this one! Thank you so much for this inspiring ask, I've been writing angst for a week so going back to fluff felt really good 🥰❤️ Featuring : A sick Gale and a worrywart Bucky Also on AO3 Find my other Mota fics here

"Do you need anything ? Blanket ? Water ?" His hands hover over Gale's shivering form but the other weakly bats his hand away when John reaches out to check his fever.

"M'fine, Bucky." Gale's usual deep voice is now raspy and hoarse from too much coughing and Bucky winces in sympathy, knowing how much just saying those few words must've hurt. It also happens to be one of the biggest lies he's ever heard, on the top of his list with Buck's other countless "I'm fine"s he's heard since meeting the other. Bucky's only slightly exasperated.

"Like hell you are." He grumbles unhappily but fondness rounds the edge of every word as he fusses with the army issued blankets until only two unimpressed, slightly hazy with fever, blue eyes could be seen above the green fabric. John has to physically suppress a coo at the sight, sure it wouldn't be welcome, and very much not in the mood to wrestle Gale back in bed a second time.

He's honestly surprised the other held on for as long as he did considering the entire 100th had fallen victim to a nasty cold in the past two weeks, even Bucky himself. Buck had nursed him back to health and despite the pounding headache he remembers, John had enjoyed every minute of it. He would've enjoyed it a lot more though, if this stubborn sweetheart of a man hadn't also decided to take as much of a workload as he could while the rest of them were bedridden, disregarding any signs of his own degrading health.

A hand pulls on his sleeve until he sits on the edge of the bunk, the heat from Gale's body warming his side even through two blankets. Those pills better kick in soon or John might just die from worry. Over a damn cold.

Well, that's not exactly true. Even if the depth of his feelings for Gale still scares him absolutely shitless, he's past the shameful stage of denial. A mere small splinter would be enough to have him worried sick if it was in Gale's finger. But, he considers, maybe he went a bit overboard when he tucked Gale in with all the blankets available. Perhaps just four would be enough... which is why he lets Gale, although unhappily, drop some of the blankets on the bunk next to him. His mouth opens then closes with a click at Buck's glare.

Three blankets it was.

Gale settles again under the remaining covers, graciously letting John adjust them until his neck is covered. His lips, despite being chapped and not as pink as usual, still look so inviting that Bucky has to physically stop himself from pressing his own lips to Buck's. Three days he's been deprived of Gale's kisses and he has never wanted anything more in his life - except for Gale himself. During the two days he was sick, Buck had imposed a no-kissing-on-the-lips rule, much to his own chagrin but he respected Gale's boundary and need for cleanliness. Besides, it's not like he wanted to get Gale sick. And today, on the day he'd been longingly awaiting for 48 endless hours, Buck himself was sick and would refuse Bucky's kisses, he knows. It doesn't stop him from gazing mournfully at those plump lips.

"I was really looking forward to those kisses." He whines dramatically in a defeated sigh, a pang of fondness in his chest at Buck's own saddened eyes. He hasn't been alone in his longing, and the thought sends warmth through his body. Yet, coldness courses through him as he watches guilt overcome sadness when Gale turns his head sideways to avoid looking at him.

"M'sorry." All theatrics forgotten, a frown crosses his face immediately. He leans closer to Buck's face, gently sweeping his hair of his forehead and then cupping his flushed cheek to stroke over a high cheekbone until Gale looks at him.

"Hey, Buck. Listen to me." With his thumb, he tenderly frees Gale's bottom lip from the cage of his teeth. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. Damn cold got everyone, it's no surprise it'd get you too. Nothing shameful 'bout that, okay?"

Later, when the other isn't as miserable as now, John will grouch to him about working himself to the bone instead of going to see Smokey as soon as he’d started feeling bad. Later, he'll make Gale promise to come to him too, if he doesn't feel like talking to their flight surgeon.

The thing is, Gale is John's safe place. With him, he doesn't have to worry about talking too much, touching too much -as much as he could in public- being too much. He just wishes Gale would allow John to be his safe place too. And he knows that Gale allowing him to see that vulnerable side of his is already a huge show of trust. But he wants Gale to trust him not only to catch him when he falls but also to lean on him when he misses a step or falters just a bit.

For now though, he accepts the small nod he gets and relishes in the soft, barely there up of the corners of his lips, which blooms into a sweet smile when Bucky leans down to press a kiss to his forehead.

"As soon as you're back on your feet, I'm kissing you 'till you push me away." He promises against the too-warm skin of Buck's forehead before pulling back and grinning down at him. Gale looks amused, if a bit tired, but the light in his eyes is one of amused defiance. Even if he doesn't speak, Bucky hears him anyway and it sends thrills of anticipation down his spine. Just a few days more.

There's a moment of silence as John mindlessly plays with sweaty golden strands until Buck blinks slow and long and Gale's warm hand slips into his under the blanket. He has to bite his lips to keep the dopey smile from his face but he does stroke his thumb back and forth the expanse of Gale's knuckles. Shivers still wrack his form, though they did subside a bit compared to minutes ago. It's not nearly enough for Bucky.

"You sure I can't get you anything ?" Buck audibly groans as he opens his eyes just enough to show Bucky just how hard he's rolling his eyes and John snickers sheepishly. He raises the hand not in Gale's soft grip in mock surrender, the amused glint in sky-blue eyes only spurring him on. 

"Sorry, sorry. But really, do you need anything ?" Gale licks his lips once and oh, John knows that look. It's as adorable as it makes his heart ache, the way Gale doesn't look him in the eyes. He thinks of a young boy, barely knee tall, not daring to ask his father anything and imperceptibly clenches his jaw. Softly squeezing Buck's hand in his, he smiles encouragingly when the other faces him.

"Anything, Gale." Tired eyes look at him for a moment, searching for something but John isn't sure what. He keeps his face open, knowing perfectly well there's no way he could hide how he feels about the other man when no one is around. Gale must find whatever he's looking for because he bites his lip slightly, seemingly pleased and content, if a little shy.

John is keeping a tally of how many kisses he's been robbed of.

Minutely, Gale starts scooting over and John huffs a laugh but obediently sits in the spot just vacated, back leaning on the metal headboard. He's barely put his legs on the blankets that Gale immediately presses in close to rest his head on John's lap like a cat pressing his head on his hand until he gets pets.

Bucky might just die of adoration for this sweet, sweet man he's blessed to call his.

He's half convinced the other will start purring when he strokes his fingers through his hair, nails slightly scratching at his scalp like he knows Buck likes but Gale only presses even closer to him until his body is one hot line against John's leg, a happy hum leaving him. He's asleep in one minute flat, face buried in Bucky's lap as the latter keeps playing with his hair, eyes not leaving the even rise and fall of his back.

John's so, so in love that he wonders how he ever thought he wasn't Gale's safe place just as much as Gale was his.

[joeyalohadream]

I was rereading the cooler fic last night (for the 1000th time) and i was wondering if there was a line or a few lines u could share from part 2 and how its coming along! (No intention to put pressure or anything at all) I adore ur writing 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Hi, anon!

Endlessly flattered that you've re-read it so many times!

Small WIP update: I threw out my back at work yesterday and am laid up for a few days. I'm feeling motivated and hoping to use the fact that I can't move much as an opportunity to write a lot!

But here's a small snippet from Part Two to wet your whistle while you wait for me to finish:

“What is it?” He watches as Gale picks at the cuticles around his thumbnail. It strikes him suddenly that the grime under Gale’s nails has been there for a while. It was there when he’d held those trembling fingers in his own the night before, which means it had probably been there since he’d been in isolation. Gale, who has been meticulous about cleanliness, about order and neatness since the moment he met him, is looking down at his dirty hands and he’s not bothered by them. The subtle changes Bucky has been noticing in his demeanor over the last twenty-four hours are starting to pile up.  He’d poked fun at Gale about his almost obsessive need to be hygienic a few months into their confinement. In one of his darker moments, it had made him angry watching Gale act as if such an unimportant thing mattered when they were suspended in such a meaningless state of inactivity. It hurts to remember the way Gale had shrugged off his harsh admonishment of this aspect of his character, not pushing back, just accepting the new normalcy of Bucky being subtly cruel. Right now, he wishes he could go back in time to their moment in the washroom and scrub the dirt from under each of Gale’s fingernails. Wishes he could help give him back something that seems to have been stolen from him in the recent weeks. He takes advantage of their solitude and reaches over the table to grasp Gale’s cold fingers, halting the abuse he had been dolling out on his delicate skin. “Talk to me, Buck. Something’s bothering you.” Red-rimmed blue eyes meet his and a small smirk plays over his lips. “A lots bothering me today, Bucky.” He gives the fingers in his a slight squeeze and the man they belong to a small smile. Between the cold and the hunger and the pain and the sickness, he knows that. But he also knows that there is something else, something maybe he could fix faster than those other ailments. “It’s stupid.” Gale sighs and shakes his head. “Let me be the judge of that.” “It’s selfish,” Gale shifts his gaze to their hands and hunches down in his chair. Bucky frowns at the top of his head. “You don’t have a selfish bone in your body, Buck.” Bucky wishes he did sometimes, because maybe then Gale wouldn’t feel the need to sacrifice his well-being so often. Gale stays silent but Bucky can see his jaw working, knows he’s contemplating his words and deciding whether or not he’s going to share them. “Please,” he leans over the table at the same time he pulls on Gale’s hand, lets his lips brush the cold skin over his knuckles. He smiles again, keeping his face open when those beautiful eyes rise to meet his again. “Before I went in,” Gale starts, voice low, pained. “You weren’t doing well.” Bucky winces internally at the understatement but stays silent, willing Gale to continue. “I tried to give you space and keep you close at the same time. But the only times I felt like you were really with me were when we were in our bunk. And some nights not even then.” Guilt is a vice around Bucky’s heart at the hurt in Gale’s voice. “You wouldn’t talk to the guys or help out or even get outta bed somedays.” Gale pauses, takes a shuddering breath that turns into a harsh cough that he turns into his own shoulder. Bucky looks on, helpless and feeling raw. It takes a minute for Gale to gain his composure and catch his breath enough to continue. “But now, you’re like the old you,” Gale clears his throat and looks back down at the table. “The way the guys were talking to you last night and this morning, I can tell you’ve been like that for a while now.” Bucky thinks back to the slow crawl he made through the metaphorical muck in his mind to get back to himself, to be what the men needed, to be what Gale would need when he finally came back to him. “It’s like I went away, and you got better,” Gale practically grinds the words out, voice whisper soft and Bucky’s heart breaks.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Stimulation

In which you, dear reader, discover a certain wizard gets turned on seeing you fight. NSFW.

“It’s quite thrilling, to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. Especially being by your side.” Gale smiles warmly at you after you, Shadowheart, Astarion, him, and the Harpers you came across fought beings warped by the Shadow Curse. He becomes nervous in an instant. “I once read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one’s desire for…other forms of stimulation.”

You blink. Is he…he surely can’t be suggesting…

“Have you ever read anything on the subject?”

Have I…WHAT?! No, he…oh my gods, is he turned on by me fighting?!?!?

Your brow furrows. “What are you saying exactly?”

“Only that I find you quite irresistible. Even illuminated by such rotten light as this place produces.” He is turned on by me fighting. “Perhaps it’s just the thrill of our near-undead experience talking. But standing at your side through such darkness and disrepair, it only makes me want you more.” OH MY GODS?!?!? He winces and then shrugs. “Unfortunately, this is neither the time nor place to indulge such feelings. So, we must be patient and push all such thoughts aside. For now.”

You blink a few more times, trying to process what he said.

“Erm, we should be going, no?” Astarion coughs under his breath. “To the safe haven the Harpers told us about?”

You nod, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yes, of course. Let’s go.”

***

Several hours later, and you still cannot believe the conversation you and Gale had. As you lay on your bedroll, you stare up at the canvas of your tent. He actually finds me attractive when fighting? When I’m sweating and gross and—

Then again…

You think about how every time he casts Mage Armor on himself you get a little jolt of pleasure. His voice is so sexy. He could read me a census, and I’d melt. The thought of him summoning fire, lightning, and ice makes you feel like all those elements are in your veins. He said his power’s been diminished because of the orb, but gods, he’s magnificent and talented and handsome and kind and funny and—

“Hello?”

You see Gale’s silhouette against the side of your tent and inwardly panic. Shit. Fuck. I’m thinking about how hot and bothered he makes me and he’s HERE?!?!? “Hi Gale.”

“Do you mind if I come in? If you’re too busy or tired, then I can—”

“No, come in!” Don’t say come!!!!! Don’t torture yourself!!! You try to sneakily adjust your top (the girls must look good) before he enters, a large smile on his face.

“Forgive me, I know the hour is late, but after our…conversation earlier, I wanted to see you.” He sits beside you on your bedroll, hands folded in his lap. “If I made you at all uncomfortable, then I do apologize. It wasn’t my intent to embarrass you or—”

Shut up.

You suddenly take his perfect face in your hands and kiss him soundly. Gale hums softly, deepening the kiss. After a few moments, you break off and your forehead rests against his. “Not uncomfortable at all. Just unexpected.”

“Why unexpected, my dear? I thought I was fairly obvious with my intentions the night of the celebration. I clearly wanted to do more than simply chat with you.” Gale explains. “Gods, I wanted to sit with you under the stars and kiss you just like this,” he whispers and pulls you for another kiss. This one is slower but no less passionate. He shifts slightly to easily wrap an arm around your ample waist. His other hand caresses your cheek gently. I could melt into him right now. Let him envelope me. “And tell you that I love you most ardently.”

Heat builds inside you as you kiss and suddenly appears on your face when he confesses his feelings. You look into those soulful brown eyes and cannot stop grinning. “I love you too, Gale.” After a quick kiss, you bury your face in your hands. “That night I thought you were letting me down in the nicest possible way.” Because I’m not a goddess.

Gale blinks. “By Elminster’s beard, no! I wanted to experience the Weave with you again. Far more intimately. We could…” His hand on your waist gives you a squeeze. “Do that tonight, if you wish.” He looks at you expectantly, while you feel as if your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

Magic sex? Nah.

Reminding him of the pleasures of the flesh now that the orb won’t go off if he comes? Absolutely.

“Another night. What was it you said earlier?” You tease, shifting so that your legs go over his lap, your lips inches from his. Oh. Oh wow. He is very hard. How long has he been like this?! “Seeing me fight…stimulates you?” You kiss him and then trace the purple lines under his eye. The orb? Must be. “Tell me about it, love.”

He swallows, his apple of throat bobbing. “I, well, you see when you’re casting spells, sweat dripping down your brow as fire explodes from your hands, when you use your quarterstaff to crack a skull, gods you’re so beautiful. I mean, that’s not to say you aren’t normally, darling!” He grins sheepishly. “You are stunning. You take my breath away each time I see you.” He cradles your cheek in his hand, and he kisses you again. You can feel his thumb rubbing gently against the corner of your mouth. A part of you wants to shove him down and ride him until dawn, but before you have a chance to act, he ends the kiss and stares into your eyes like I’m the only person alive. Gods, I love you. “I must ask something of you, my beauty. Please, let us wait. I want our first night together to be perfect and not so rushed after a long day. I’ll make it worth your while,” he smirks. “I swear, my love.”

You raise a teasing eyebrow. “Is that so, Mr. of Waterdeep? Then you’ll simply leave me wanting tonight?” Of course, he won’t. He’s so giving and generous and amazing and funny and—

“I will never leave you wanting. Allow me,” he conjures perfectly soft pillows under your head with the snap of his fingers. His brown eyes are full of excitement as he reaches for your thick thighs, running his hands up and down them. “May I remove this offending garment and possibly one more under it?”

Your cheeks burn and heat pools in your belly. “Gods, yes. Please.” You pant, lifting your hips slightly as his long, elegant fingers far too slowly pull down your leggings and underwear. Now, with your lower half bared to him, you feel a little self-conscious. “I, um, don’t shave down there, sorry.”

Gale shakes his head, his soulful eyes twinkling. “What luck, my love! I happen to adore that. If you could spread those beautiful legs for me…that’s it. There’s a good girl.” You dutifully do as you were told, the heat in your belly becoming quickly unbearable. He must have noticed because he smirks. “Do you like that? Being called a good girl?”

If I scream, “Fuck yes, don’t stop” does that count as an answer? You nod slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Yes. Please, keep going, Gale.” He hums to himself as settles between your legs, on his knees. He complains about his knees frequently, but I suppose it’s fine for…whatever sexy thing he’s going to do. With one hand resting on a thigh (gods, he has such beautiful hands), the other dances towards the apex of your thighs. You let out a small whine as he rubs your clit.

“Sing for me, my beauty. Let me hear you.” You feel a finger tease your opening, once again making you whine. “So very wet, dearest. Is this all for me?”

You moan, nodding slightly. “I-I fantasize…a lot…ah, about you…” Morning, noon, and night. Only you. Want you.

He hums softly, a long, elegant finger now curling inside you. “Truly, my dear? Please tell me what antics I’m up to in your fantasies. Am I doing this?” He sticks a second finger inside, and you are already starting to see stars. “Or perhaps this?” With a frankly delicious smirk, he removes his fingers and dives headfirst into your curls.

Too much. Not enough. Want more. Want him. Always him. “Yes, gods yes. And fucking me senseless…in every room…of your tower…”

His parasite connects with yours.

In every room in every possible position, my love. I can see it now---you bent over the desk in my study as I fill you until you’re positively bursting with my seed. What a beautiful image…perfect in every way���like you…

“Gale…love…please…so close…” You moan, grabbing his brown hair and tugging slightly. “Shit sorry!”

No, my sweet. Pull as much as you desire. It only drives me madder for you.

When the bowstring within you snaps, you see not simply stars but entire universes forming. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard. Ever. As you pant and gasp from the aftershocks, you can feel Gale’s beard tickling your thighs.

You’re very welcome, my dearest lady.

Your eyes widen. “So, uh…you heard that, huh?”

He chuckles, finally raising his head. His beard is soaked with your juices, and he grabs a cloth to wipe it. “I did! Unexpected but extremely pleasurable. To know that I have that effect on you makes me feel like the most fortunate man in realms. I’ll not lie---one of my fantasies is devour you while these beauties,” he ran his hands up and down your thick, soft thighs. “Make the most valiant attempt to squeeze my head.” He wiggles his thick eyebrows, making you giggle softly. “While a few mage hands see to any other needs you have. I told you I’ll never leave you wanting, and I mean it.”

“But Gale,” your eyes travel to the significantly large tent in his trousers. “What about you, love?” I can’t leave him like THAT.

To your surprise, he shook his head, smiling warmly at you. “I’ll be fine, darling. You needn’t worry. Now, we’ve had a long day, and you need your rest.” He takes one your hands and gently presses a kiss to your knuckles.

Oh, fuck that. “I’d rest better if you stay. Please.” You say as your mouth forms what Mum calls “the pretty please” face.

His features softened more than they already were. Works every time! “Of course, my dear.” You and Gale settle onto your bedroll, barely fitting the two of you. He is spooning you from behind, his hands settling on your belly. “Do you know what I love about fantasies?” He whispers, a hand going under your shirt. Shaking your head, you wait for him to answer. “The only limit is our imaginations. I cannot wait to discover what we can create together, my beauty. But I do know this,” he presses a kiss to your neck. “It will be magnificent.”

You hum softly, your eyes growing heavier by the second. “And discover the effects of certain stimuli on such things, love.” You tease as you drift off to sleep.

When you wake the next morning, you find yourself alone. He must be making breakfast for everyone. As you sit up, you see a note where Gale was laying the night before. A mischievous grin appears on your face while you read its contents.

My darling,

I very much look forward to our further experiments regarding the effects of specific battle-related stimuli on my desire and hopefully, yours as well.

All my love and devotion,

Gale

[middlingmay]

Marge is Gale's Beard AU

I don't know what happened, but this was supposed to be a funny cute little scene of Bucky stumbling across Marge getting a little frisky with another guy, not knowing she's not actually Gale's girlfriend, and promptly losing his shit. Like 1K words, max

BUT OVER 6000 WORDS LATER AND HERE WE ARE.

I need to be stopped, jesus fucking christ.

Anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: violence, blood. Also period-typical attitudes towards monogamy.

Also, John doesn't look to good for part of this fic, but he is genuinely apologetic, and comes out the other side the John we all know and love. He's just going through some things!

Read under the cut!

Ostensibly, this little get together was a send off for Bucky who was being shipped off to Thorpe Abbotts in England thanks to his new and entirely unwanted position as Air Executive. But it was also a chance for the rest of the fellas to enjoy one more night of fun and frivolity with their loved ones before they left the States in a few weeks, some of them for the very first time. Maybe some of them for the last.

And for Buck, that meant none other than Marge.

They had been friends since they were kids. She was the first and remained the only girl he had ever brought home to his mother, and even father was on his best behaviour whenever she was around. Such was the power of Marjorie Spencer.

She was also the first and only girl he had ever kissed. They were teenagers, and even if Gale wasn’t as half-wild as his classmates about all the pretty girls, he was still a hormonal boy and one night, when he walked her home, he took her little face in his big hands and kissed her.

She’d pulled back frowning. “Gale. I don’t have brothers, but if I did I reckon that’s what it’d feel like to kiss ‘em.”

She wasn’t wrong. He’d heard the nasty locker room talk about boys sporting half a woody just at kissin’ a girl, and Gale hadn’t felt so much as a flicker.

Then, some while later, he’d felt the full fury of those teenage hormones when James ‘Jett’ Granger, school football star, had bowled him over and landed on top of him on the floor with a thud.

Jett had laughed and apologised and hauled Gale, who was not dainty by any stretch of the imagination, up like he was nothing with an apology on his lips. Like he hadn’t just upended Gale’s entire world.

When he told Marge, she’d cackled and leered like a locker room boy and said, “Did you…” and stuck her tongue between her teeth.

Gale spluttered and coughed on his spit and his blood pounded in his ears. But he couldn’t deny it, even as he scolded, “Marjorie Spencer!”

But once she got over her glee and teasing, she saw Gale work his lip like a well done steak and softened. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with you.”

Gale scoffed. “We both know you’re the only one round here who thinks like that.”

Even Marge couldn’t stubborn her way out of that cold hard fact.

“Alright then,” she said with a set to her jaw. “Then you’ll be my fella, far as anyone knows. Least until you find one of your own.”

Gale’s heart flooded his body with warmth and he must have looked at Marge like she was a saint. “I can’t do that, Marge. What if you find a guy you really want to be your fella?”

But Marge looked highly sceptical. “Round here? You’re all I got.”

He smiled at the sentiment but he still wore worry on his brow and Marge darted forward to kiss at least a bit of it away. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

And they never had. Right up until Gale enlisted and was due to be shipped off to basic training, Marge kept assuring him every boy that came around was a knucklehead, and as little as Gale even let himself do so much as look, he couldn’t say he disagreed with her.

The night before he left, after an awkward near silent dinner with his folks that his mother had insisted on, he and Marge had laid a blanket out on an empty field and looked at the starts.

“I still can’t believe you’re going,” she said, voice thick.

Gale couldn’t say ‘sorry’, couldn’t say he wished he wasn’t going, because he wasn’t no liar. He’d wanted to be a pilot since he was a boy and he couldn’t wait to get started.

“I’m going to miss you like crazy.” But that there, that was the truth.

Marge snorted, true and ugly. “Yeah, right. You’re going to be surrounded by all the cute boys and I’m stuck here with the cream of the Caspar crop.”

Gale kicked her shoe. “Oh, yeah. No lookin’. No touchin’. Not unless I wanna come home with a crack in my skull and a blue ticket in my first. At the least.”

Because Gale wasn’t scared of the military. He wasn’t scared of leaving home or being surrounded by strangers. He wasn’t scared at the possibility of having to head into a fight. But being found out? That petrified him.

Marge clutched his hand with all the strength she possessed. “I’ll write you,” she vowed. “Every day if I have to. I’ll spritz the letters with perfume and kiss them and everything. No one will know, I promise.”

Marge’s promises were better than the word of God.

Until he met John Egan.

The long-limbed, freckled, moustached, larger and louder than life man had thrown himself into Gale’s life with very little input from the man himself. He given him his name and kept by his side, like he’d adopted a dog.

Despite himself, Gale had actively tried to dislike John, or Bucky, at first. He put up a cold front to his overt friendliness; threw off his wandering hands possessed with so much affection that he just couldn’t keep them still. Gale refused every single invitation for as long as he could. And yet.

Gale found himself looking for Bucky in whenever he entered a room. He listened carefully whenever he spoke during briefings, and chiming in until they were bouncing ideas of off each other, unaware of the secret smiles of their superior officers. When Gale struggled to sleep, he found himself asking Bucky any question he could think of just to hear him rattle on until he was finally lulled to rest.

He stopped rejecting and started anticipating John’s touch, even positioning himself so as to welcome it, necessitate it; an arm over the back of a chair set close to his; a tiny gap in a doorway or corridor that required a gentle touch to a guy’s waist or his back. And soon Bucky became one of the only men Gale ever touched comfortably beyond a squeeze of the shoulder or a pat on the arm.

One of the other boys had tried once, to swing an arm over Gale’s shoulder. Whether it was because he saw Bucky do it and wanted to emulate the two men so respected by the others, he wasn’t sure, but he hadn’t done it again. The less said about it, the better.

Marge noticed, of course.

He hadn’t been aware of how much Bucky had filtered into his letters, and Marge’s questions had seemed innocent at first. And Gale had been all to happy for the outlet. Then in one letter she had scribbled:

He sounds like a scream, Gale. I’m glad you’ve made such a fast friend. I can't wait to meet him, and make sure he’s good enough for my fella. Can’t have you taking up with a no good kinda man who’s just going to lead you into trouble.

He knew Marge better than he knew himself. He could read between the lines: make sure he’s no bigot before you go getting attached.

Which brought them to that night at the bar. The first thing John had done on being introduced to Marge was to sweep her off for a dance.

Springing away with Gale’s girl in tow, Bucky hollered over his shoulder, “I gotta make sure poor Marge gets to dance with someone, tonight, Buck!”

The boys had all jeered and Marge swatted John’s chest playfully, but soon she was just as swept up in the force of him as they all were, and laughed with flushed cheeks the whole time.

It warmed something healing in his heart to see the two people closest to him in the world get on like a house on fire.

At one point, when Bucky went to the bar, Marge slumped into his side.

“Oh, Gale. You never stood a chance against him, did you?”

Not a snowflake’s in hell.

But before Gale could get too despondent about that, she continued. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s a good man. I think he- I think you’re safe with him. Yeah?”

Gale nodded. Of course he was. It was Bucky.

Then she got that impish look on her face. “So I say, look your fill.”

Gale shushed her and looked around to see if anyone was paying closer attention than they should’ve. No one was, thankfully, and when his heart rate returned to normal, he remembered he could tease right back.

“Well," he said coyly into her ear, “speaking of looking your fill, that black-haired fella at the corner table at the back has been throwing you looks all night.”

Marge pretended to look unaffected and Gale leaned in even closer. ���Don’t think I didn’t see you lookin’ back.”

Marge’s vicious little elbow checked his ribs just as Bucky came back with their drinks.

“Thank you, John,” she said primly. “But I have to visit the powder room.”

John toasted her off and looked at Buck, bemused. “Something I said?”

Gale nearly laughed. “Naw. She just likes to keep me in line.”

John shook his head. “And ain’t that a crying shame. I’m surprised she hasn’t upbraided me for trying to undo all her hard work.”

Later, Gale would blame the giddiness that came from John’s proximity for what he said next. “I only gotta behave with her. You can get me as riled up as you like.”

John inhaled too much of his drink and coughed until there were tears in his eyes. Gale flushed to his ears and kicked him under the table.

Giggling and breathless, John kicked him right back even harder. “Noted.”

“Ask Major Cleven! He’s great at calculations.”

“Sir? Sir!”

A few boys in the ground crew called Buck over, and John waved him off good naturedly. “Go awe the masses, Buck. I need a smoke anyway.”

It look less than five minutes for Marge to come barrelling towards him, a wild and furious and worried look him her eye.

“Gale, It’s John! You gotta get John!”

*

There was a door at the back of the bar that led to the dead end of an alley outside. When he just wanted a quiet smoke in the peace of the evening, John liked to head out there instead of the front with everyone else, where he could easily while away the better part of an hour talking to all and sundry.

And he was enjoying spending his evening Buck. And Marge.

She was a sweet little spitfire. She had the looks of spun glass and high class, but even after spending nothing more than a handful of hours with her, Bucky could tell she was no wall flower, no meek dame. And John didn’t think about it too closely, but he liked that the girl who Gale loved so much wasn’t so different from himself.

Where John liked the think of him and Buck as sides of the same coin - dark and light; steady and gregarious; push and pull - Marge and Buck were one of a kind, like the couples on the movie posters. Their love felt inevitable.

And, as John was learning about himself, he was apparently a possessive man, because between him and the cigarette in his mouth, he could acknowledge the bitter flash of jealousy he got when he looked at them too long.

He pushed open the back door, a box of matches in hand, and looked up on hearing two frightened gasps.

Marge. Her eyes were so wide, there was more white than blue. Her hair was a mess, clutched in the meaty hand of another man. A man who’s face was too close to the crook of her neck.

And both of them wore such fear in their eyes.

John’s cigarette finally gave up its precarious balance on John’s gaping lips and tumbled to the floor. The box of matches dove after it.

“John.” It was a tiny, panicked sound.

And it snapped John back to attention. With two strides of his long legs he had Marge tucked behind him and slammed the man into the brick wall of the alley hard, and smiled ugly with all teeth when he heard the meaty thunk of his head hit the wall.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” John snarled in the man’s face, low and incandescent with rage he didn’t even know how to begin to unleash.

“John-” Marge tugged at his back, urgent.

“Taking advantage of a girl after a few drinks-”

“No, John-!”

He grabbed two fistfuls of the guy’s shirt and rattled him until he heard teeth clack. “A girl who’s taken. By your superior officer!”

“It’s not like that!” Marge yanked at John’s ear and he was forced to turn away from the man, but he didn’t relinquish him.

He calmed himself as much as he could. “Marge. Are you alright?”

But Marge looked painfully, worryingly exacerbated. “For God’s sake, John! It’s not what it looks like!”

“It looked like he was forcing himself on ya!”

But the Marge clutching at his lapels didn’t look scared, not of the man behind him, anyway. She had a little bit of fear when she looked at him though, and John didn’t like that at all.

It’s not what it looks like.

And if it looked like she was forced…

John’s heart broke for Gale, before the red pricks of anger started to twitch at his muscles.

“Oh. It’s like that, huh?”

“No!”

“Are you with Gale or aren’t you?!”

Marge swallowed something down and almost reluctantly said, “Yes.”

The boy chose the wrong moment to pluck at the reserves of his bravado.

“There’s no harm, Major,” he panted. “It was just some harmless fun. It didn’t mean nothing. We all know Cleven’s too much of a gentleman-”

John snapped his fist into the man’s jaw and followed through. The wall was the only thing that kept him standing. So John pulled him upright and slammed a punch into the side of his face and he went tumbling down.

John followed him, straddling him as he grabbed a handful of the guy’s jacket. Blood was already smeared over his mouth and John rained down hell and hit his nose with a crack and blood came pouring outta that too.

He switched his grip to the guy’s hair to keep the lolling head upright as he leaned down and growled into his ear. “You think you’re going to make a fool out of either one of them, you got another thing coming.”

He pulled back to land one last hit, a good one to drive his point home, when a solid weight barrelled into him from behind, wrapped an arm around his waist and hauled him into the air. John spun around swinging, but another arm got a stranglehold around the back of his neck and he was wrapped up painfully tight and too close to do anything.

And the scent of Buck’s cologne penetrated his senses and the fight left him.

Because fuck. How was he going to explain this? How was he going to tell Buck he’d caught his woman in the arms of another man? Should he even tell him? If it was Bucky, he’d wanna know, but maybe if he spoke to Marge and she promised it was a drunken mistake (God knows he’d had plenty of those), and it would never happen again, he wouldn’t have to tank Buck’s perfect love story.

“John!” Buck shook him hard enough that Bucky knew he tried to get his attention more than once. “The heck were you thinking?! You outta your goddamn mind?!”

Bucky heard shuffling behind him and he managed to turn just enough in Buck’s unforgiving grip to see the man being led inside by some of their boys, who shot furtive, concerned glances at their Majors.

Then there was Marge, hanging back and looking at Buck with something awfully sorry. He felt Buck nod at her and she went to head back inside, but not before sending Bucky a scathing look and a roll of her eyes.

Now there was nothing to spare him from Buck.

Only now did Buck loosen his grip and let Bucky back a step, and only a step.

“You have done some damn foolish things since I met you, Bucky. But fightin’ with a subordinate?!”

“You don’t understand-” and Buck really wasn’t sure he wanted him to.

“I understand plenty. Marge told me everything.”

Buck couldn’t help but scoff. “Oh? And what did Marge say?”

“That you caught her neckin’ with some guy and went off the damn rails!”

Buck was shocked stupid. Not just that Marge had told the truth, but that Buck seemed more pissed at him that he was at her.

“Then why are you riding me for?! I was defending you - you should be thanking me!”

Buck tensed his jaw so hard, Bucky expected to hear a crack. “Thanking you? For nearly bringing down my whole house of cards?!”

By now Bucky felt he was missing some vital information, and he couldn’t think straight with Buck so close to him, radiating fury. He shrugged off Buck’s hands and shook his head.

“Hold on, hold on,” he held up his palms. “You’re pissed at me for socking the guy making it with your girl behind your back?”

Buck sighed harsh and annoyed like Bucky was the most exasperating thing in the world and Bucky was getting more offended by the second.

“No, y’dummy!”

“Dummy?”

“I’m mad because if Marge hadn’t kept her head and got me before anyone else saw you fighting, everyone might have found out she ain’t actually my girl!”

“I - what?!”

Buck gave a frustrated groan that didn’t quite get out of his throat and prayed for patience. And maybe a little bravery. He trusted John, vexing as he could me. But sometimes fear was instinctual. But he couldn’t let Bucky go on thinking he saw what he thought he saw. But Christ if the other man didn’t make it difficult.

“But - you and Marge - since high school. You said-”

“Well, I lied. Kind of.”

“Kind of? You kind of lied?”

Bucky huffed. “We’ve been tellin’ people we’ve been together since high school. So no one would know…about me…” he trailed off meaningfully.

For all but Bucky, apparently. “Know what?”

“That I…that…” God, why couldn’t he just say it? Bucky may be as straight as they come, but he wasn’t that kind of guy, and he was Buck's best friend to boot. He choked down his frustrations and finally managed to spit out, “That…Marge ain’t the only one who likes looking at cute boys.”

Buck blushed as he said it. He sounded like a stupid teenager. But Bucky just stuttered to a stop and gawped at him. Buck watched his mouth flap, trying and failing to utter a sound, like it too couldn’t believe John Egan had finally been rendered silent.

“I - you’re-?”

“Gay? Queer? A big ol’ blue ticket? Yeah.”

What he certainly hadn’t been expecting was for Bucky to near drop to his knees in a mix of relief and panic.

“Haah-fuck, Gale," John grimaced, breathing heavy over his knees, which looked to be the only thing supporting his weight. "They're gonna court martial me in the morning. Don’t get me wrong - I’m glad I didn’t have to break your heart, tellin’ you Marge was stepping out on you, but fuck. I punched out a subordinate. Fuck.”

Side-stepping the unintentional lie in what John said, Buck, mightily and heroically refrained from rolling his eyes. “Don't get hysterical, Bucky. It don't become you. Relax, I'll fix it.”

And really, the sheer force of the scepticism on Bucky's face was down right insulting.

“Yeah? And how you gonna do that?”

Buck's brain worked furiously for an excuse - the reason’s why men hit other men over women that weren’t jealousy. Protection being the main one, but he didn’t want to put Marge in the frame at all if possible. Then he remembered a story Bucky told him once about a boy that had taken a shine to Bucky’s much younger sister, and Bucky had followed him home one day after his sister had come home cryin' with red bruises round her wrists.

“You ain't gonna like it.”

“Solid start.”

Buck nearly cuffed him round the ear like an insolent, child. “Hush. Now, you uh, ever planning on introducing your sisters to the boys?”

Bucky balked. “Absolutely not. What does that-”

“Listen. That man inside, bleeding - he looked a lot like a fella who left your sister a little worse for wear. Let the boys take that however they see fit.”

“The hell you tryna say about my sister?!”

“Nothing, idjit! Listen!”

Bucky shut his trap with visible effort.

“He looked almost exactly like that man, and when you saw him near Marge - near her and nothing else, you understand? You lost it. Alright? You’d had too much to drink, you weren’t thinking clear, and you were seeing you baby sister, not Marge. Right?”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and the gesture was so typically Gale’s that it stole his breath to see it on the other man.

But he had to press on. “Right?”

Bucky capitulated. “Alright, alright. But Jeannie ever finds out about this, we’re both dead.”

Buck eyed Bucky then, waiting for the other show to fall. “Is that all you gotta say to me?”

Bucky's face fell and cleared in realisation and Buck's stomach bubbled with a flare of anxiety about what he might say.

“Ah, fuck. Sorry, yeah. I’ve got to apologise to Marge, don’t I?”

Buck’s eye twitched, because Bucky had to be playing so damn dumb on purpose.

But, he wasn’t wrong.

“Well, yeah. She liked that boy. And you gon’ scared him off.”

Bucky scoffed though, waving a dismissive hand. “If you’re her fake fella, Buck. Marge has got to raise her standards for her real one. Don’t worry, I’ll find her a nice guy; a real prince to your pauper, so to speak.”

“That is not how the story goes.”

But then something occurred to Buck. He’d seen Bucky charm plenty of women, a lot of them blondes. Now that Bucky knew Marge was technically single…

“You mean someone like you?”

Bucky smirked and stepped toe to toe with Buck. He let his large hands smooth out the wrinkles Buck had worked into his own uniform wrangling Bucky earlier. His fingers slipped to his crooked tie and slowly knotted it back into place.

“You callin’ me a prince, Buck Cleven?”

Buck wanted to brush it off, to turn it into a joke, say anything to break the tension. But his tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. All his brain could process was the proximity of Bucky, the smell of Bucky, and heat of his fingers at Buck’s collar.

Bucky leaned closer, like a he had a secret to share. “That make you my princess?”

And that should not have crackled a hot, thrilling tremor to life that sent him rocking infinitesimally closer to Bucky, a gasp somehow escaping the clutch his teeth had on his lips.

Bucky’s eyes darkened, but before he could say or do anything, the backdoor to the pub opened again and Marge’s golden head popped out.

“If you two are quite done?” she sounded like a teacher scolding the class clowns. “I am fending off almost an entire bomb group in there by myself and they’re like a pack of wild dogs. Some help, if you’d be so kind.”

Buck coughed and stepped back and trotted dutifully to Marge’s side. “Sorry, darlin’,” he said and dropped a kiss to her cheek.

Bucky was left with Marjorie Spencer staring at him, hands on her hips.

“Well?” she said expectantly.

Sheepishly, Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “In my defence, you could do better?”

He saw murder in her eyes and quickly backtracked. Now was not the time for jokes. Evidently Marge did not appreciate them the way Buck did.

Bucky dropped his arms by his sides and looked her in the eye. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that, no matter what I thought. I’m not - God, Marge, I’m not a violent man. Bit of a motor mouth sure, and I’ll stand up for any of my boys, but I don’t usually…”

Marge let him stew in the silence for a bit. But eventually, “No you shouldn’t have. I might be thankful that Gale has you looking out for him, but you can’t be such a hot head, John Egan. I don’t appreciate it and Gale don’t like it.”

Gently, Bucky took one of Marge’s hands, tiny in one of his, and raised it to his lips to place a sorry kiss there with a rueful smile “I will never lay hands on someone like that again, unless it's for a very good reason. I promise. But Buck’s pretty good at keeping me in check.”

Marge blessed him with a knowing smile. “I’m sure he is.”

And then Bucky was back in full force. “But seriously, Marge, you’ve got to at least date sideways. You can’t date down. Anyone less than Buck ain’t good enough for you.”

She rolled her eyes and pointed him back inside, letting him offer his arm. “Well when you find him, you let me know. Because I’m shit outta luck.”

They re-entered the pub laughing and any remaining tension in the room seemed to release. As Bucky took Marge for another spin round the dancefloor, he felt Buck’s eyes on them and risked a glance. And what a risk. Gale stared, blue eyes pinned on him over the smooth rim of his glass, tracking Bucky’s every move and licking the moisture off his lips.

Bucky threw him a wink and mouthed, Later, princess.

*

Colonel Huglin did not appreciate having to consider disciplinary action at six am. Yet having a man like Major John Egan under his command meant Huglin’s dreams didn’t count for much.

He watched this respected, no, revered man stand before him, clasp and unclasp his hands, purse his lips, and shift his legs like he was fighting the urge to rock on his heels. Like a misbehaving school boy. If Huglin had never met him, and someone had asked him to pick out the best pilot (on par with Major Cleven), the quickest thinker, an excellent strategist and the man almost single-handedly responsible for morale on base, Huglin wouldn't even have spared John a glance.

And yet.

“I haven’t seen him yet, but I’d bet my commission that the young fella you thrashed good and sound yesterday looks real pretty this morning.”

John grimaced. And, surprisingly enough it was not the wince of one awaiting an unwanted scolding, but one that actually looked like regret. John, who never ever failed to look a man in the eye, looked down at his shoes, lips twisting, and just nodded.

Major Cleven had come to him even earlier, at 5.20am, before Huglin had even had his coffee, and filled him in on what happened last night.

“You know Major Egan, Sir. I know you don’t always see eye to eye but he’s not a violent man, not like that. But,” and Gale and leaned forward in his chair, concern creasing his brow and wringing his hands together, “his sister, before he left, she had some…awful kind of trouble. With a fella. That looked just like the man from last night, John said. You know how much he looks after the men, and he loves his sisters. It drives him crazy he’s not there to look after ‘em with their dad not being around anymore… Sorry Sir, I’m rambling.” He was, and it was unlike Cleven who was a man of few words. Surely, a testament to his worry over his friend and brother-in-arms. “I just mean to say, John thought - John saw -"

And Huglin had cut Cleven off with a wave of his hand. He understood. He’d seen countless men wide eyed, crying or screaming at something or someone who wasn’t really there. It didn’t mean Egan could get entirely off the hook, but he understood.

“You have anything to say for yourself?”

“Can I see him?”

Huglin hadn't been expecting that. “What?”

“The…guy. God I don’t even know his name. But I’d like to apologise, if he’ll let me. He deserves that at least, and I’d like to settle it before I go.”

He wasn’t due to fly to Thorpe Abbots until mid-morning. There was plenty of time. “Evans. Airman First Class Evans. And I’ll ask his superior officer and let you know.”

Bucky released a breath and nodded, more to himself, Huglin thought, before he squared his shoulders at the Colonel.

“I just want to apologise, Sir. What I did yesterday was not becoming of a Major of the US Airforce. I know that. It’s not the kind of man I am or how I want my men to see me. I’m…” John swallowed. “I embarrassed the uniform. And I hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry, Sir.”

Huglin needed a moment to collect himself. He wasn’t stupid. He knew part of the reason the men admired Egan so was because he never backed down from the higher ups, always spoke his mind and said his piece - but Huglin couldn’t think of one time it wasn’t on their behalf. To get them what they needed or give them the best odds, or even distract them on days the base just became too heavy. But this was a side of John that Huglin had never seen: the human man underneath the military man.

And Huglin had sisters, too. He could empathise.

“I’m glad to hear that, Major. Normally, there’d be a disciplinary hearing, and we’d decide what was to be done with you.”

John bit his cheek but nodded, accepting.

“But, I think in this case, I can smooth things over. If, you apologise to Evans and his CO, and goddamn cool it on the liquor, John. I mean it. There might even be a mandatory anger management session with the doc in your future, and if so I won't hear a damn single word of complaint from you, understood?”

John reared back looking stunned, and Huglin let himself enjoy it. “Don’t look so surprised. Your buddy Cleven was by here and told me everything. And be glad he did. Otherwise I’d be tempted to ground you the rest of this damn war.”

John said nothing.

“Alright, get out of here. You’ve got a trip to prepare for. And an apology, too.”

“Yes, sir,. John turned smartly on his heels and headed for the door.

When he reached the jam, Huglin called out,. "And John? Give my best wishes to your sister, will you? If they need anything, you let me know.”

John made a funny noise in his throat and nodded before he all but fled the room.

Buck was waiting for him outside. He leapt to his feet when he saw Bucky emerge looking frazzled.

“Well? How’d it go?”

Bucky fell into step next to him, and out of the corner of his mouth said, “What on earth did you tell Huglin? Because whatever it was, I almost got out of there scot-free.”

And Buck didn't fail to notice that Bucky didn’t sound happy about it. He new in the sober light of day, and with the clarity sleep brings, John would be beating himself up something fierce for attacking that boy. Which he should, by rights, but John did take self-flagellation to extremes sometimes. Gale wondered if it was the Catholic in him, lapsed or not.

“You’re still Air Exec?”

“Yeah?”

Buck nudged him. “Sounds like a punishment to me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and came to a halt at the mouth of the building, staring out onto the tarmac.

“I want to apologise to the boys,” he said, hands on his hips and head hanging low. “I just, can’t stop thinking about them seeing me like that. I don’t…”

Standing where they were, Buck couldn't do much but clasp his shoulder and lean down to look Bucky in the eye. “Then let’s go find ‘em.”

The boys, as it turned out, were just finishing getting dressed. They didn’t notice the Majors enter the bunk house at first.

“-wonder what happened?”

“None of your business, that’s what happened,” said DeMarco.

“It shouldn’t have happened.” Brady. Bucky flinched.

“Ay,” Curtis dove into the conversation. “You don’t know shit. If he got a bit banged up, then he deserved it. Don’t go thinking anything else.”

And despite himself, Bucky let himself crack a smile at Curt’s friendship and loyalty.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Brady insisted, stubborn and louder. “John’s our leader. He’s a Major. I’m his co-pilot for crying out loud. He should be setting an example, and starting bar fights isn’t it. I don’t know about you, but I want to head into war with the John Egan who has your back, and keeps his head in the air so good he solves problems before half the crew even notice they’re there. Not the John who’ll flip at a switch. I don’t like that John.”

Several of the boys protested and booed Brady and started yelling and cursing, and they knew a more serious argument was about the break out with Brady bearing the brunt of it if they didn’t step in.

Buck let Bucky go when he stepped further into the room.

“Brady’s right,” he called, and the men snapped to attention and Brady dropped the shoe he’d been polishing and stumbled to his feet.

Buck walked up steady behind Bucky, a solid presence at his shoulder. “At ease, gentlemen.”

Bucky stood tall and true. “Last night, I acted in a way that was unfit for a man of the US Airforce, rank be damned. It should never have happened, and it will never happen again. I just wanted you to know that.” He surveyed the boys and they looked on silent. “We all make mistakes, and things get heated sometimes. This one is my mistake, and I’ll own that. So don’t you boys go thinking that starting fights with your fellow airmen to blow of some steam is acceptable. It’s not. You can all learn that lesson from me. That’s part of my job - teaching you how to avoid making the same mistakes I have.”

And in true Bucky fashion he flipped the solemn mood of the room with a switch and a turn of his lips and he gave them a sincere Bucky grin.

“Like that time I wandered into the Colonel’s quarters by mistake and got stuck on latrine duty for a week.” The boys relaxed into their laughter. “Remember that?” He pointed at Curt. “You made me sleep out in that abandoned storage hut until I was done.”

“You stank!”

“Or that time I yanked Ham back from the shaky step heading into the mess hall?”

Ham howled from his bunk. “Because you’d tripped a week or so before it, and sent your scrambled eggs all down a Red Cross dame. That handprint on your cheek didn’t disappear for a whole day!”

Buck just stood back and marvelled at Bucky's ability to work a room.

“So if me or Buck here ain’t around to give you the benefit of our experience,” he reached out and clasped the back of Brady’s head and scrubbed it playfully, “be damn sure you listen to Brady. Best co-pilot there is.”

The men all hollered and scrambled to rib at Brady, rubbing his head like Bucky did or punching him playfully in the arm or chucking his chin.

But Bucky wasn’t finished. “Because we’re the 100th. The best damn bomb squad there is. And we’ll damn well act like it. Do you hear me?”

“Yes sir!”

Bucky shouted louder. “I said do you hear me?!”

“SIR, YES SIR!”

“Because who are we?!”

“The 100th!”

“Who are we?!!”

“THE 100TH!”

“Then get your gear on, get out there, and show ‘em how it’s done!”

Making a thunderous racket, the boys gathered the last of their things and rushed out the door, Brady the last of the group, shooting Bucky a small, pleased, and proud smile before he disappeared.

The silence they left behind was a stark contrast. Until Buck couldn’t take it anymore.

He snorted and cackled and John threw his hands in the air. “Really, Buck?”

Buck cleared his throat and got himself under control. Adopting the highest voice he could, in something that could barely pass as Bucky's odd not-quite Wisconsin accent, he teased him, “My name’s John Egan, and I’m a terrible leader on the ground!”

Bucky shoved him hard, but yanked him back with a firm arm around his bicep and pulled him in close, so the buckles of their belts gave a soft clack in greeting.

They were alone.

“I’ll be flying at at 10.30 sharp,” Bucky mumbled up close.

Buck nodded. “I know. I’ll see you off, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Mm, with a handshake in front of the boys.”

Buck gave him a firm look. “Of course. Don’t you go thinking otherwise.”

Bucky smiled and leaned in closer, and Buck was surprised that he even could. “But the boys aren’t here, now.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re lookin’ for, huh? A little send of?”

Bucky's hands bravely slipped down to his waist and squeezed, and Buck resolutely did not think about how his waist fit all nice in John’s stupidly large hands. He was not a small man - he was tall; he worked hard all his life, and despite a less than stellar childhood, always had enough to eat. But John was just so damn big.

“Just a kiss, Buck. For luck. To tide me over till you get over the pond.”

Buck grinned, a rare one showing his teeth and leaned in until he felt the softness of Bucky's lips skim the edges of his own. He kept it there, just not quite touching until he heard Bucky's breath hitch and his hands tried their hardest not to wander some more.

And against that mouth he’d dreamed about in his sleep, he’d fantasised about in his waking hours, he murmured, playful and sweet, “No.”

He turned sharp in his heels and escaped Bucky's grasp and threw a pleased grin over his shoulder at Bucky gaping in his wake.

“Buck!”

“You’ll just have to wait for me, Johnny!” And Gale ducked out of the bunk house and left Bucky behind, to attend his duties.

And John stood there wondering what on earth he was in for, taking up with a tease like Buck Cleven. But he couldn’t wait to find out.

[moghraidhs]

For the angst prompt list ❤️

“you can’t expect me to believe nothing happened, not when you flinch everytime something touches you. ” (Buck x Bucky)

some angst for my fellow angst junkie <3

Gale's always been a light sleeper. Too many nights spent curled up on benches outside the racetrack or the bar have left him sensitive to the slightest threat, and the war hasn't done much to change that.

He wakes sometime in the early hours of the morning. It's snowing outside, and the little cabin is freezing. All around there are men coughing or shivering or snoring, but they're not the problem.

Bucky is.

He's turned away from Gale, facing the wall, but there's something unnatural about his stillness. Like he's holding his breath, waiting for something bad to happen.

Nightmare. Gale knows it without even asking.

He's not sure what bothers him more, how quiet the nightmares are, or how often they come - which is every few nights since Bucky's release from the infirmary. He'd had them there too, and Gale had tried to put together the bits and pieces slurred out in delirium into a whole picture of what had happened since Bucky landed. The puzzle remains just as jagged and unsettling, however.

He shifts a bit closer to Bucky, not touching him, but just enough so Bucky knows he's there. "You okay?"

It's a while before Bucky answers. "M' fine, Buck. Go back to sleep."

He's quiet. Too quiet.

"Was it the crash?" Normally Gale would leave it alone, but he can't help pushing this time. "You never said how you ended up like you did."

Bucky shifts. "I'm here now, aren't I? I'm okay. Promise."

Gale closes his eyes, fighting the urge to scream. At their situation, at the cold, at whoever had done this to Bucky, of all people. Bright, reckless, soft-hearted Bucky. He doesn't deserve this. None of them do.

He waits until the stinging behind his eyes has abated to speak again. "You can't expect me to believe nothin' happened, not when you flinch every time someone touches you. But you don't gotta tell me if you don't want to, alright? I'm here, John."

It's quiet for a long while, with nothing but the sound of the wind outside and the occasional cough to disturb the stillness.

Finally, Bucky rolls over. The bunk creaks slightly as he burrows against Gale like a giant Labrador puppy, burying his face in Gale's neck. "Sorry, Buck."

There's a lump in Gale's throat, but he answers anyway. "Nothin' to be sorry for." He strokes Bucky's tangled curls, and when Bucky starts to tremble in his hold, Gale kisses the top of his head, fighting his own tears.

He'll get them both out of here, he promises himself. One way or another.

[bloodiedrogue]

Hello, I saw your request post and I was thinking... how's about Gale or Astarion realizing how much of a hoarder Tav is? Like taking everything that isn't bolted down type of hoarder? Maybe they find some spicy stuff? I'll leave that up to you. Thank you ❤️❤️

WHAT'S THIS?

SUMMARY: Astarion requests Gale help identify something amongst your horde of things.

PAIRING: Astarion/Gale & Gender Neutral Reader (Platonic)

WORD COUNT: 543

WARNINGS: Mentions of an aphrodisiac.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I absolutely loved this idea, thank you for requesting anon! <3

MASTERLIST

-

“Darling, what’s this?”

You’re elbow-deep inside your pack when you hear Astarion’s voice beside you, forcing your already narrowed eyes to trail up the length of his frame until you notice a familiar bottle in his hands, opening your mouth. 

“It’s nothing,” you lie, immediately feeling your stomach drop as he ignores your words, moving the bottle closer to his face for further inspection. 

Inside, there’s a light pink liquid. Filled about halfway to the top, it sloshes against the rounded bottle as he rolls it around his fingers, eyeing every inch of it with careful precision before humming in response and turning his head. “Gale, darling, you’re familiar with all kinds of elixirs, aren’t you?”

A couple of feet away, Gale perks up at the sound of Astarion’s question, nodding his head before the vampire scoffs and ushers him over. 

“It seems our friend here’s picked up so many trinkets they can’t tell which is which,” he says, giving you an almost smug look as he hands the bottle over to Gale. “Mind identifying this?”

“Don’t mind at all, my friend.”

Both Gale and Astarion snicker at one another as Gale surveys the item, running his fingers along the glass as he hums in curiosity, causing you to grow more nervous by the second 

“It’s probably just a dud or something,” you try to reason, ignoring the mischievous looks they share as you huff and turn your attention to your pack, trying to sift through all the things you looted from earlier. 

Inside there are about half a dozen pieces of cutlery, their flashes of silver haphazardly strewn amongst metal goblets and old books. In the main pocket, you can feel a multitude of textures but none of the ones you’re looking for, prompting you to groan and flip the pack upside down, allowing everything to spill out onto the dirt. 

As it happens, both men look down, watching as you scramble through the pile of junk, mumbling under your breath until you remember the side pocket that exists. 

“Gods, I didn’t realize just how much stuff you carry,” Gale remarks, forcing you to look up, watching as he pops open the cork of the bottle and gives it a good sniff. 

Almost instantly he recoils in a fit of coughs, waving his hand over his face as he holds the bottle outward, allowing you to snag it out from his hands and pop the cork back on. 

When you do though, Astarion raises his brow and leans forward, watching you with newfound caution as you open up the side pocket to grab the bandana you were previously looking for, replacing it with the mysterious liquid. 

“Something tells me you’re hiding something, pet,” he remarks, watching as you roll your eyes and shake your head, telling him he’s being ridiculous as you recollect your things and immediately storm off.

Watching you go, Astarion’s suspicions only grow, prompting him to turn to the wizard with a loud sigh. “Did you figure out what it is?”

Still partially coughing, Gale nods his head, laying a hand on Astarion’s shoulder to settle himself as he struggles to mutter out the word aphrodisiac, causing Astarion to grin. 

-

@poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi@rainonarden@oceanbluesixeyes@bodtyworship@maydayitsjay@greasyslimebucket@yeeteth-the-raven@fantasyfairysworld@allexthakatt@flowersaretheshit@morglyne@thespectacularspaceace@cephiss0@use-your-telescope@furblrwurblr@kloverfield@angelofthorr@writervaul-t@starved-kitten@minixluvr@crowley--aziraphale@sapphicwren@alionera-blog@jennithejester@dezedrol@thisisew@saladalpaca@applepiewithbacon@httpbiohazard@aurasyn@nerdoodles@kingpinthedevil@itzkawaiix@domainoflostsouls@silverskylan@uminootome@helpidkwhatimdoingwrong@deadlyinfernos@blackbirdswhispers@sarahskywalker-amadala@writingmysanity@f3v3rs@jayjones03@quietlyebbie@optimisticprime3@eyes-for-daze@sunnytalia3@megoshh@maddiedott@cappsikle@mostbeautifulnightmare@lynnlovesloki@simpytheshrimpy69@astarion-archive@smaranshakthi@autistic-deer@shadowfeart@freckled-petals@candied-lavender@hp-art-studio@ghouligan@satelliteapotheosis@waywardwitch-hel@pandimoostuff@mythoughtsofinsanity@ilovelovelylove@oneandonlyizabelle

TAGLIST NOW CLOSED!

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

Mother Knows Best

Morena Dekarios visits her son in Baldur's Gate and reminds Astarion that mother's know best.

Mother Knows Best

“As…Astarion, I should,” Gale gripped the back of the couch. “I should really get ba…back to work.” 

“Take a break,” Astarion skimmed his fingers along the inside of his thighs. “You have been at it all morning.” 

“I have a dead…deadline,” Gale shivered, feeling the vampire's teeth on his throat. 

Astarion just hummed and worked his way down Gale's body, pushing up the hem of his robe, and nudging his legs apart. Gale covered his mouth with his hand as Astarion kissed the insides of his thighs and teasingly bit him. 

“Gods you are just so soft and supple,” Astarion sighed and wormed his hands under Gale’s ass and squeezed. 

Gale tilted his head back as Astarion continued his teasing. Through the haze he can see one of the thralls, Xana he thinks, and there's someone with them. A woman with a striking resemblance to his mother?

Mother.

“Mother!” Gale sits up and Astarion makes an oomph sound as he's unceremoniously knocked onto the floor. 

“Mother?” 

“Mother,” Gale’s face is on fire and he's trying to fix his robe and his mother is in the doorway. And his mother is here. In Baldur's Gate. In the palace. 

Morena is here.

“You’re here…” he coughed awkwardly into his hand. “Why are you here?” 

“I travel all this way and that's how you greet me?” Morena Dekarios crossed her arms over her chest. 

Gale jumped to his feet and stepped over Astarion as he walked over to her. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was just caught off guard that’s all. None of your letters mentioned you were coming.” 

“I believe that's why they call it a surprise,” she held her arms open and Gale hugged her. 

He'd forgotten how nice it was to be in her arms. To have her fussing over him before they've even fully parted. She's messing with his hair, smoothing down his robe. Complaining about his beard. 

Are you eating enough? Are you getting enough sleep? You look exhausted Gale. 

“Darling, aren't you going to introduce us?” Astarion had picked himself up off the floor and was sitting on the armrest of the couch. 

“Right, yes, of course,” Gale took her hand. “Mother this is…Astarion. Astarion, this is my mother, Morena Dekarios.” 

“A pleasure to meet you,” Astarion walked over and offered his hand. 

“Mhmm,” she placed her hand in his and he brought it to his lips to kiss the top, looking at her from under his lashes. 

“I was always curious about where my beloved got his good looks,” Astarion continued. “The resemblance is striking.” 

Gale glances between his mother and Astarion. She is unimpressed. She is smiling (polite), cordial (an act), and most clearly not drinking the champagne that is Astarion’s honey words. He tugs at the neck of his robe. 

“It is always nice to see you mother but um…what are you doing here?” Gale asked. 

“What was I supposed to do Gale?” She turns on him, slipping her hand free of Astarion's grasp. “It's been months since I've seen you. Your letters are always the same and then I find out from Evelyn Vezin that you are engaged. Engaged. I am your mother, did you not think it was important to tell me that?”“I…We're not engaged engaged,” he tried. “We are engaged to be engaged?”

Continue Here

[thedeviltohisangel]

Can you do a request for John Egan where a new recruit calls the reader “the major’s girl” in front of them both despite the fact that they aren’t together, just obviously in love with each other?

All The Things I Did (Interlude): A Feeling I Want To Get Used To

chapter 1 chapter 2 interlude 1 chapter 3 interlude 2 interlude 3

a/n: ok tooth rotting fluff. john egan is literally holding on by a thread. which also means my brain wants to put him through hell. if anyone is feeling devious and wants to talk about a spook/bucky disagreement please reach out. let me know your thoughts, interlude requests still open!

Cass was used to whispers and shadows. Sought comfort in them even. You’d be surprised what you learn when people think you’re not around. It was how she learned she’d been given the nickname of Spook. How she had learned Colonel Huglin was coughing up blood. It was also how she learned that, apparently, she belonged to Major John Egan. 

She was sorting through her mail at Mary’s desk when her ears prickled with the sounds of whispers coming down the hall. When she heard her name, she paused her sorting momentarily but regained herself. 

“...and then apparently he laid her down on top of the table and kissed her right there!”

“No! Lieutenant Cooper would never be so public.”

“Maybe Major Egan is driving her that crazy.” There was giggling that drifted away as they turned down a separate hallway away from Cass. It was not like her and John were trying to keep their burgeoning relationship a secret. He would bring her flowers every morning and they sat together in the mess hall for almost every meal. But they hadn’t been dancing at the base social club or kissed each other on the airfield for all to see. She was certain John would if the idea crossed his mind. Was certain he would do it right this very second if she asked. But she didn’t like being the topic of gossip. 

“Find everything you were looking for, Lieutenant?” The secretary came from around the corner and sat back at her typewriter.

“Yes, Mary, thank you.” Cass turned to go but stopped short, unable to help herself. “Mary, I do have a question for you. Were Major Egan and I a topic of conversation amongst the girls last night?”

“Lieutenant-” Mary, for her part, was blushing furiously. 

“I’m not asking because I’m upset. Just curious.” 

“I didn’t confirm or deny anything, promise ma’am. But the girls all have such a crush on Major Egan and they’ve noticed you two spending time together. And someone mentioned maybe seeing you two at the pub in town and before we knew it, we were planning your happily ever after.”

“Oh.” Cass’ words were catching in her chest. Her heart hammering at the notion that not only had people noticed the something between her and John but that they were writing their own fairytale of it. “Well, on his good days, I do suppose he has a certain Prince Charming quality to him.” They both giggled. 

“I promise, Lieutenant, it was just girls chatting.” Cass tapped the stack of envelopes on the desk a couple times.

“Thank you for your honesty, Mary. Enjoy the rest of your day, will you?” She slid her own pair of aviators over her eyes as she stepped out into the morning sun. “John, John, John.” Even the sound of his name put a smile on her face. Happily ever after indeed.

----

John was antsy. Gale was watching him with a toothpick between his lips. The rest of the boys were either dancing with a girl, talking about dancing with a girl or huddled together laughing over training stories.

“I don’t understand, Bucky. She said she wasn’t feeling like going out tonight. You shouldn’t be surprised she isn’t here.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be upset about it.” 

“Your pouting is ruining the night for the rest of them.” John scanned the room and they all seemed fine enough. 

“Where’s that girl we were looking at the other day?” Two younger men walked past Bucky and Gale and took a spot at the end of the bar. 

“James told me they call her Spook.” John’s eyes whipped to the side so quick it made him dizzy. “If she shows tonight, I’ve got to have enough of these to ask her to dance.” 

“I’m not sure, Robbie. That nurse I was dancing with said she heard Spook is Major Egan’s girl.” 

“Well, if that was my girl, I’d make sure there were no questions about it.” Gale readied himself to intervene in whatever was about to ensue.

“Alright, gentlemen, let’s get a couple of things straight.” John squared his shoulders and held himself to his full height. His threatening words were never able to make it out of his mouth as he watched the two plebeians in front of him look over his shoulder in both shock and awe.

Cass had decided that no one was going to wonder about John and her after tonight. The entire time he had been giving her all of him. Open and honest about what he wanted and willing to go at whatever pace she dictated. In return, Cass had interpreted their dynamic as him trying to find a crack in her armor. To expose the real her. She had been fighting to regain the upper hand. Barely treading water trying to work through the feels he stirred up. But she didn’t want there to be any ambiguity. For him or for anyone else. John Egan was hers. And she was his.

The whole room had gone silent, even the saxophone squeaking out a wrong note, as she stood in the doorway in a red dress looking like a pin up they would paint on the side of a fortress. It was slightly off her shoulder, John drooling over the sight of her bare collarbones, the fabric hugging every inch down to her hips before flaring out into a skirt. 

“Maybe this was a mistake,” she whispered to herself as her heels carried her over to the bar. She waved away the Coca Cola he went to place in front of her. “Something stronger tonight. A double.” It went down in one go, Cass afraid to turn around and face the crowd again.

“Cassandra Ann Cooper, you are the most phenomenally beautiful, gorgeous, angelic woman I have ever had the honor to lay my eyes on.” John had love in his eyes. That was the only way she knew how to describe it. And, God, if she didn’t think her eyes were showing love right back. 

“Thank you. I’m not used to all these eyes on me.” His eyes flicked down to the empty shot glass on the bar before flickering back to her. 

“We can get out of-” His hand was running from her bicep to her wrist to her hand, ready to whisk her somewhere far, far away if that is what she wanted. She shook her head.

“No. That’s the exact opposite of the reason why I came and wore this dress.” She thought back to the hyperbolic version of her date she had heard this morning. Thought back to Mary saying someone thinks they might have seen them. Cass worked in the shadows but she didn’t have to live in them. “Dance with me?” She grabbed his hand before he could answer, as if he would have ever thought to say no, leading him out onto the floor just as the band was beginning to switch to something slow. 

“Cass, not that I’m complaining, but did I miss something?” One arm wrapped and settled around the small of her back and the other held their interlocked fingers to his chest. 

“Have you noticed people whispering about us?” He thought back to the airmen at the bar.

“Yes.”

“I’m sure it’s my fault for not being as forward or open-”

“Cass-”

“-but I want everyone to know you’re mine.” She felt his heart skip a beat under her hand. “That is, if that’s okay with you.” Words failed him so he chose action. Afraid the word he felt and meant but couldn’t say would slip out.

John held her face between his hands and groaned at the first sweet release of her lips on his. Even with heels on, she pressed onto her tiptoes to get all of him. Cass gripped the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer and closer and closer. She could hear the whistles and the cheers but they were muffled by her heartbeat echoing in her ears. He kept her bottom lip between his teeth when he pulled away, Cass whining and chasing his lips for more. John obliged her with a laugh, a genuine and happy laugh, barely able to oblige her kissing antics around his smile.

“I’m holding onto my last strand of fucking sanity, Cass, but I’m yours. I’m fucking yours.” She smiled wickedly and kissed him again in the hopes of branding his words onto her skin. John lost himself in her easily. Easier than breathing. Easier than flying. Easier than singing the words to his favorite song while he drove down an open road on the perfect summer evening in Wisconsin.

“You’ve got a little bit of lipstick on, Major.” He looked downright sinful with his swollen lips and blown pupils and her red lipstick smudged against his skin. Cass nuzzled her nose against his sweetly, her eyes closing with the warmth of being with him for all to see. “Hey, John?” He kissed her forehead and held himself there.

“Yeah, angel?”

“I’m yours if you’ll have me.” He wanted to say something cool. Be suave and charming and impressive. 

“Never letting you go.” Instead he was truthful. They both just had to get through this damn war first. “Cass, I have to tell you something.”

“Can tell me anything.” She stroked her thumb over his cheek and kissed him again, insatiably high on her feelings for him. Cass knew the word to describe them. But she couldn’t say it. Not when it would devastate her.

“I lov-” His declaration was interrupted by Meatball’s barking as he ran towards them. She dropped to embrace him with a giggle, accepting his kisses and scratching behind his ears. “You’re a horrible wingman, Meatball.” John quickly recovered from his near declaration of his love for her. The word and the feelings that went along with it were simmering in his soul the past few days. He was desperate to tell her. Desperate for her to know the truth behind what she meant to him. John didn’t know how much time they truly had but knew they had to make the most of it. 

“Sorry, you were going to tell me something.” She stood back up and twisted her fingers with his. John brought the back of her hand to his lips as he shook his head. 

“Not important.”

“Everything going on in that beautiful head of yours is important to me.” 

“Don’t let Gale hear you say that,” he mused as he leaned in to kiss her again. Cass looked around and noticed they had been swaying to their own beat as the music had changed around them. “I told him I was jealous that he and Marge were able to create their own world whenever they were together.”

“I think we’ve created our own solar system, John.” One where she was the sun he revolved around. One where he hung the stars in the sky just for her. One where they could build a life together and live forever. 

“And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He let the way he kissed her and held her and danced with her express the words he had tried to say. Let the way he carried her back to her billet and brought her flowers the next morning, as he always did, express his promise for tomorrow. Wrote the words on a piece of paper and put her name on the envelope before tucking in his trunk. If anything happened to him, he wanted Cass to have it. Wanted her to know he was hers as long as he had known her. That he had dreamt of an after with her. That as long as he was here, that is what he was fighting for. 

John could only hope the universe deemed him worthy of having it.

[imperator-titus]

Kinktober Day 6. Over the Desk

Bloodweave (Astarion/Gale), Light Domming-from-the-Top Gale, ~1k Words

Rating: Explicit

Notes from the Ao3 chapter:

I feel bad. I really bit off more than I could chew with trying to do a kinktober lol I was still recovering from covid when it started (read: was constantly tired and coughing all the time didn't help) and then my partner was away and when he came back we left for a fishing trip =_= So, yeah, I gave up on trying to keep up with the prompts BUT!!! I really like some of them and I'd like an excuse to explore more explicit stuff, characters, and pairings, so I will try to do them from time-to-time. I'm still open to doing requests, not just kinktober but in general too, but I'll be slow. Please refer to the notes of the first chapter or my Tumblr for more info on that. (Tumblr Edit: my tumblr post about requests) Anyway, have some Bloodweave smut! It incorporates a few minor themes of other prompts/kinks. Also, I'm sorry for any formatting errors I miss. Rich text keeps adding spaces around italicized words because of how <"em"> works differently from <"i">, I guess? And I don't always catch it. Hope you enjoy!

Story below cut:

With a playful little smirk on his lips, Astarion slipped into Gale’s office. 

“My office hours start in an hour,” Gale called out pointedly, not bothering to take his eyes off his work. 

Pressing his back to the heavy oak, Astarion closed the door.

Gale looked up over the rim of his reading glasses to see if his guest was actually so rude as to not apologize for intruding before leaving.

“I promise, I’ll be quick.” Astarion gave him a wicked little grin as his delicate fingers twisted the lock, making sure they wouldn’t be interrupted.

“I have never found that to be the case.” 

Gale ignored him as he sauntered over. He didn’t even look up when Astarion sat on the edge of his desk, just slid his pen holder into a more stable position.

“I need a private lesson, Professor Dekarios,” Astarion purred, leaning forward, getting so close to Gale that his breath disturbed the wispy stray hairs along his hairline.

“You’re in my light.”

Astarion knocked over the pen holder, sending its contents clattering all over the floor.

“Oops.” Gale glowered at him. Astarion gave him a coy little smirk as he got off the desk. “Let me just… clean that up.”

Unnecessarily, he got on his hands and knees. He took his time, picking up each pen and dropping it into the cup holder with a plunk.

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk plunk.

Astarion reached for another when Gale’s foot came down on his hand, gently enough to not hurt him, but firm enough that it would hurt to break free.

Gale’s dark voice washed over him, sending a shiver up his spine. “This is what you really came here for, isn’t it?”

Red eyes traveled up Gale’s long legs, culminating in the most glorious sight.

Slowly stroked by his hand, Gale’s cock proudly jutted out of the open fly of his trousers.

And from above, Gale’s dark brown eyes drilled right into Astarion. His serious blank expression shifted into a confident smirk.

“Well? What are you waiting for? It’s not going to suck itself.”

Gale lifted his foot, allowing Astarion to finally escape. Still on his knees, he lifted his head until it was in-line with his next meal. Greedily, Astarion opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.

Gale moved his cock away out of reach. He gave it one more pass with his ink-stained hands and, on the up-stroke, let it go so that it fell on Astarion’s awaiting tongue with a meaty thwack.

With a delighted moan, Astarion took it into his mouth, coating it with his saliva. He savored the taste and feel of skin on his tongue.

Placing his hand on the back of Astarion’s head, sparing no care for the man’s perfect curls, Gale pressed his hips forward until the head of his cock was welcomed by Astarion’s throat.

“I am short on time, my love,” he growled through his pleasure.

For a few minutes, Gale used Astarion’s mouth like a toy. Astarion huffed and groaned as always pleased his lover. When he let a glob of frothy spit drool out of his mouth and drip onto the rug, Gale tugged his face off of his cock despite whiny protestations.

“Tch. Always making messes…” Gale chided, gently tugging Astarion up by the hair. Astarion happily complied.

Still holding him by the hair, Gale kissed Astarion roughly, his beard coming away sticky with saliva.

“You want a private lesson, hm? You have a lot to learn.”

With that, Gale shoved Astarion against his desk. It was gentle, most of the impact coming from Astarion throwing himself forward.

Wearing high-heeled boots just for this occasion, Astarion’s ass fit perfectly against Gale’s hips without any kneeling or standing on tiptoe. He had to consider the poor man’s knees.

Astarion also chose his clothing carefully. Keeping in mind time and ease, his pants untied at the back and had enough stretch so that Gale could easily pull them down over his ass.

Gale teased him, bucking his cock over his waiting hole, kneading and squeezing the firm flesh on either side.

But he didn’t have a lot of time and Astarion knew to come ready, so the teasing ended early. With a hand on Astarion’s hip, Gale slid his cock in to the sound of Astarion’s muffled moan. 

The desk kept Astarion from shifting too far away, but Gale still took hold of his waist with both hands and pulled his lover back as he thrust forward. In any other place, he could go like this for hours. By denying himself just a little bit of pleasure through sheer force of will, he could ward off his own orgasm until Astarion was utterly spent.

This time, he let every crumb of stimulation wash over him. He could feel Astarion quiver underneath him with every stroke, probably ruining the papers scattered across the desk with the drool leaking out of his mouth.

Astarion was in heaven, receiving exactly what he came for. Gale knew how to treat him right, all of the things that drove him crazy. Most importantly, he trusted the man raining down blissful punishment on him to stop when asked.

Trapped in his half-removed trousers, his cock strained, begging to be set free, to be touched. The friction only made Astarion moan into his hand more. 

“Please,” he breathed out between his fingers, panting with every motion of Gale’s hips.

“Speak up,” Gale commanded calmly, despite how ready he was to come undone.

“Please,” Astarion whined a little more loudly. “Please, Gale, fill me with your cum.”

Astarion didn’t need to beg twice. Already playing with fire, Astarion’s sweet filthy words were all it took for Gale to instantly fulfill the request. Leaning forward to brace himself with one hand on the desk, Gale groaned in Astarion’s ear as he gave one last thrust. Hand firmly placed on Astarion’s hip, he locked them together. They felt every pulse of his cock as he gave Astarion wave after wave of hot cum.

Spent, Gale pressed a kiss to the back of Astarion’s neck. In his ear, he whispered, “Thank you, my love. I needed that.”

“Me too,” Astarion whispered back breathlessly, not wanting to lift his head from the nice cool surface of the desk.

But by now, eager bright-eyed students were waiting outside the door and Gale could not keep his adoring public waiting.