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crystalflygeo · 1 year

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Countdown/edging . ft Zhongli + m!reader

cw/tags: orgasm delay/edging, hand job, praise kink, dirty talk, slight dom/sub.

notes: Edging is so delicious oh god <3 First time writting male reader ehe I really really hope this is good;;; pls I only aim to please.

Downright sinful the way those elegant fingers wrap around your cock, dragging slowly, reverently before his thumb rubs right against the frenulum and you gasp, hips bucking as you shift on his lap.

“Now, now.” Zhongli’s deep voice rumbles. “Hands by your sides, my dear. Just stay there like a good boy.” He murmurs huskily, nuzzling at your neck.

You melt at his touch and moan, obediently placing your hands at both sides of your body and slightly parting your legs to give him more access.

Oh, the game was on…

Zhongli starts working you slowly, hand curling and sliding against the underside, across your entire length from root to tip. You whimper, already flushed and fully hard.

“Oh, archons-hng!” His thumb rubs against your cockhead, gathering the precum beading there already. “That’s- T-That’s-” Your words cut off with a strangled moan as he presses at the tip, a jolt of pleasure cursing your veins.

Zhongli chuckles and starts jerking you’re a little more enthusiastically, you close your eyes and melt leaning back against his chest as your breathing gets heavier, trembling as desire starts to consume you. The ex-archon slips his free hand under your shirt, teasing your stomach and ribs before his fingers pinch one of your nipples.

“Nnngh!”

He rubs against the nub and you keen at the touch, back arching. He tugs at your cock alternating the pace and squeezing a little at the top and you shudder.

Your hands claw at the couch like you’re desperately trying to hang onto something because the hot pleasure curls tight in your gut, like you’re pulling yourself up for air because your head is swimming and-

It stops. It simply stops right at the edge and you can’t feel anything but a raw need, and it’s incredibly frustrating as you catch the mischievous glint in his eyes, smirking. You whine and your hips buck, chasing the tight warm you’ve so suddenly been denied.

“Be patient.” Zhongli chides, nipping at the skin where your neck meets shoulder, sharp fangs just barely digging in at the edge of your shirt. He starts whispering numbers into your ear, counting up “One. Two. Three. Four…” his hot breath making you shudder again.

On five it begins all over again. The build-up, the edging and the sudden stop. It goes to six the next time when you’re left panting frustrated. Seven the time after that, and you whine loudly and wriggle in his lap, throwing your head back. Eight is almost impossible to withstand with the way he practically growls the numbers instead of the soft baritone from before, like he’s the one getting off here, while your voice is wobbly and laced with lust. “Zhongli… fuck, please…”

His hand cups your balls, and squeeze softly, rolling them on his palm and rubbing his thumb along the skin and it’s all too much but also not enough and you’re going crazy.

“Cruel.” You say breathily. “That’s so, so cruel. I’m so close, I’m right there, please…”

Every touch is like lightning and your cock twitches, already leaking everywhere, all over your stomach and your clothes and Zhongli’s hand. There’s the telltale churning in your lower belly, the tightening of your muscles as your thighs go taut and-

Zhongli pulls off again, pressing a soft kiss against your neck.

“Noooo…” You hiss.

Zhongli laughs amused. He knows you too well, knows all your body’s cues and tells already. He knows when you’re just about to come, your cock jumping, breath catching. He squeezes at the base of your length tightly, staving off the pleasure again.

It’s like your pleasure belong to him, your orgasms, your body, all of you.

And oh you love it.

“Too soon.” He purrs, teasing as the soft underside up to your cockhead again. “Just imagine how good it’ll be once I finally let you come.”

“Zhongli-”

His chuckle is deep and oh-so-tantalizing. He plays with the patch of hair just at the base of your cock and it twitches to attention. “Alright, alright, on ten now. Can you do it for me? Be a good boy and cum at the count of ten?”

You swallow thickly at the dark promise and nod enthusiastically, desperate to plunge off the edge he’s been keeping you at for far too long now.

His fingers curl around you once more, teasing up and down and you gasp.

“One.”

You’re so pent up, ready to burst. He’s been teasing you forever and the heat spreads through your body climbing up to that tantalizing high faster and faster.

“Four. That’s a good boy.”

His hand moves fast, sliding over your slick length coaxing you. Your hips stutter, fucking into the tight squeeze of Zhongli’s fingers.

“Six… just a little more.”

Obscene wet noises fill your ears as he keeps stroking, you shake like a leaf on his lap. So, so close…

“Nine…” He hums and tilts your head to swallow your moans, capturing your mouth in a kiss and you whine onto it, messy, desperate, squirming as his tongue rolls against yours. It’s too much, you can’t you can’t-

He parts only slightly with a smirk and string of saliva connecting your mouths “Ten. Come for me my dear. Show me…”

“Ahnn- f-fuck…”

You shake and cry out, holding yourself up on his arms and fucking his hand through it. Your vision goes white and tears leak from the corners of your eyes as you teeter the edge of overstimulation. White spurts of your seed coating your belly, thighs and his hand, all over your clothes.

You gasp and tremble as you come down from the high, body finally relaxing from the pent-up tension and your eyes feel glassy and unfocused. You blink once, twice, and finally register Zhongli muttering praises against your neck and shoulder. You sag boneless against his chest.

“S-so good…” You slur.

He chuckles and kisses your forehead. “I’m glad, my love. Are you too tired for a bath right now?”

It takes a moment but you shake your head slowly. “I-I want…” And you slowly grind your hips, feeling Zhongli’s own hard-on and rubbing against it.

“Oh…” His golden eyes darken. “You’re insatiable.”

This time, you smirk.

#zhongli smut #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #crys writes #male reader #HOT HOT HOT #everyone deserves geo daddy love//hit #hmmmmm edging HMMMMM guys moaning <3

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mcflymemes · 6 months

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AS SAID BY IRON BULL * assorted dialogue from dragon age inquisition, updated version

hey, don't top from the bottom.

next time you're free, why don't you come grab a drink?

didn't figure you were the kind to bed your way to power.

love is all starlight and gentle blushes. passion leaves your fingers sore from clawing the sheets.

do you want your silky underthings back, or did you leave those like a token?

you're the toughest, wisest, most beautiful person i've ever met.

these big muscled hands could tear those robes off you while you struggled, helpless in my grip.

i will never hurt you without your permission. you will always be safe.

you don't need to be afraid... unless you want to.

you see us as this forbidden, terrible thing, and you're inclined to do the forbidden...

you want to watch, don't you?

make sure you undress him with your eyes... respectfully.

i'd offer to help you get rid of that frustration but, you know... i'm in a committed relationship.

next time we're alone, i'm going to pin you down and do things your body won't believe.

all that crap made sense to you?

i can't tell you how proud i'm gonna be, watching you out there, addressing them... with this big, old love bite on your neck.

wait, i'll flex a little for you. make it easier.

that staff's in pretty good shape. do you spend a lot of time polishing it?

i can see you don't want to talk about it. bet you looked good doing it, though.

how do you manage that while staring up at everyone's ass the whole time?

you and i are fine as long as you don't do any weird crap.

i'd pin you down, and as you gripped me, i... would... conquer... you.

oh, for shit's sake.

good. i like that energy. stoke those fires, big guy.

all i'm saying is... you ever want to explore that, my door's always open.

worked that out on your own, did you?

you're not as flashy as most mages.

wait, did you "forget" them so you'd have an excuse to come back? you sly dog.

i didn't say it was healthy.

you don't actually like thinking about hurting people, do you?

if you do that, everyone knows you're a spy.

still waiting for me to do something sneaky and spy-like?

we probably won't try down to burn down a city this time.

really not sad i missed that one.

you're lucky then. it was awful.

you only lack the will to get more blood on your hands?

enjoying the great outdoors?

this area's low on dancing girls, sadly.

i've always liked fighting.

i'm not sure you know what you're asking. not sure if you're ready for it.

well, that's a fucking relief.

i'm fine. hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed.

so, you going to let me have it, [name]? or do i get to wait and wonder?

you really kicked the crap outta that guy.

it's pretty hot where we're from.

it's not a secret. it's just too big for a quit chat.

you get that thing i asked about?

maybe you should stand in front of me.

you ever get the asses mixed up?

you're a damn fine marksman.

i fell on a guy who tried to stab me in the gut.

all right, now you're just making it weird.

nobody fights well when their clothes are on fire.

i... didn't mean to offend you.

that hurts, [name]. that's hurtful.

i may have done it a couple of times on purpose.

i cold 'cause it freezes them, and then they break into little bits when i chop them in half.

with the magic, do you prefer fire, or lightning, or cold, or what?

you don't need to worry. i have no intention of trying to leash anyone.

are you gonna write me into one of your stories?

it's just daring somebody to try to attack it.

when that breaks, you fix it. like we're doing now.

in theory, they're no different from anyone else.

anyone who takes that burden and lives a good life with it has many respect.

you're pretty tall for a human.

the bloodstains are good for scaring enemies.

could you make it sound angrier? "love" is a bit soft.

tell me more about the coat.

i don't need a book to remind me that the world is full of horrible crap.

you're really good with that bow.

it's just friendly. i won't step in your business.

what i'm saying is, please stop stealing my kills.

we should get shirts. probably need different sizes.

i think you're confusing. how can you just pick and choose what parts you believe in?

you know, i really like hitting things.

who has sex smelling like roses?

hey, i don't hate you. you and me? we're good.

hey, no-pants fridays is a cause.

it's a difficult thing you've done, turning your back on one life to live another.

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ceruleancattail · 7 months

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*SLAMS YOUR DOOR OPEN* I would love an yandere traitor Ace Trappola pretty please 👁️👁️✨✨ I've been reading theories about traitor Ace and now my mind can't stop 😭😭

Shatter, Dear Heart

Yandere Traitor Ace x reader

There’s a certain beauty in something shattering.

Dark cracks spreading around the afflicted part, jagging across the surface like lightning bolts striking the sky. Slowly, it makes its way across the mirror, splintering your image into countless little pieces.

Reflected in every single one was you.

You gape at the mirror. A terror-stricken face stares back in wide eyed disbelief.

A moment of suspended tranquility, where everything remains still. As if the very universe itself was holding its breath, waiting and watching.

Then it shatters.

Fragments spill from that bright golden frame, smashing against the ground. Even then, the mirror shines, light twinkling within the glass. Colour of every kind shining within.

Yet even then,the light flickers out. The pieces end up scattered on the ground, taking the cold, dull, grey of the floor.

“Oh, what a pity.”

A boyish laugh ring out, tinged with a certain sort of sadistic glee. It echoed through the chamber, ricocheting from every corner. His voice dripped into your ears like acid, hissing and spitting.

Spinning around, you come face to face with him.

That dastardly face, the ghost of a smirk dancing across his lips. Scarlet eyes, burning with a certain intensity. They narrow as he surveys your form, darting up and down. Taking note of your sunken shoulders, the way blood seemed to drain from your face.

With a skip in his walk, Ace takes a step closer. Close enough for him to reach out. Cupping your cheek in his hand, thumb sliding across your lips. His fingers press into your flesh firmly, leaving streaks of red stretching across your skin.

His nails dig into your face, the metallic stench of blood stinging your nostrils. Scarlet welts.

The same scarlet dancing in those cruel eyes of his.

The same scarlet as his heart, curving itself around his eye.

The same scarlet spreading across his cheeks, a vivid blush.

Wincing, you try to yank yourself away. Your hands fly out, meeting Ace’s chest. To push him away? Shove him downwards, and pray that he shatters. Shatters into a million pieces, break like the mirror before you. Like the mirror that was supposed to take you home-

All you could manage was a frustrated sob, an anguished sound clawing its way out from dee within your gut. Pummelling him with clenched fists, arms trembling like a cornered rat.

His fingers close around your wrists, holding him tightly. Ace raises his eyebrows slightly, before giving them a squeeze. Blocking off all circulation, quite literally choking you into submission.

“Now, now, none of that. Hitting me won’t bring that mirror back.”

A growl, before you spat at him.

“I wouldn’t have to, if you didn’t decide to break it!”

Ace only shakes his head, heaving a long dramatic sigh.

“What would you even the mirror for?”

“TO GO HOME, JACKASS!”

With a click of his tongue, Ace’s eyelids flutter shut. One heartbeat passed. Then another. Three agonisingly long seconds before those scarlet pupils glare into your eyes once more. His hands release your wrists.

However, they’re pressed against each of your cheeks in turn. Palms burning out, the warmth surging into your skin. He holds you, slowly lowering his face towards yours. Until your foreheads meet, his breath wafting over your lips.

“Y’know, they say home is where the heart is.”

His gaze flickers towards your lips. Tongue darting out, Ace wets his lips slowly. The tantalising lick of a feline, looking down on its latest prey.

One blink, and his lips press against yours. Shoving against the plush of you lips, moving with a certain hunger behind every movement. As if he was starving.

Starving for something only you could give.

Only when your lips were bruised black and blue, did he pull away. Crimson was smeared across his mouth. You weren’t sure if it was your blood, or his, but Ace didn’t seem to mind.

If anything, he only seems giddier. His hand finds your wrist once more. Yanking it towards him, Ace places your palm over his chest.

Over his heart.

“ Your heart is right here, prefect.”

He shoots you another grin, and all you could feel was your heart sink. Shattering itself over and over again. Fragments sinking into your gut, impaling whatever they could reach.

For all of Ace’s warmth, you felt none.

Only the cold grip of hopelessness.

“I am your home, sweetheart.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #ace x reader #twst ace #ace trappola #ace trappola x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere Ace #yandere ace trappola #yandere ace trappola x reader #yandere ace x reader #protection potion♦️

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daisies-daydreams · 2 months

Note

Hey, love!

I am here to request a sex pollen story with our lovely Jango Fett! I would love some build-up to the actual act? Maybe like a job gone sideways or maybe a short stop on a planet leads to a situation or maybe whatever you come up with!

Well, whatever you decide it will be good!

Much love,

Maggie

A Small Favor (Jango Fett x F!Reader)

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader Category: Smut (with a hint of angst) Warnings: Depictions Blood/Wounds, Aphrodisiacs/Sex Pollen, Consensual Sex, Unprotected P in V Sex (You Know the Drill), Dirty Talk, Nipple Play, Squirting, Cowgirl Position, Missionary Position, Multiple Creampies, Multiple Orgasms, Swearing, Mentions of Infertility Word Count: 4.1k+ A/N: Hello dear! Thank you so much for your fun request (we both know I'm a sucker for sex pollen fics lol). Also Lucas allegedly said that underwear doesn't exist in space, so I had to...improvise. :| I hope you enjoy!

This was not how today was supposed to go.

What started as a mission you had been planning with another bounty hunter for weeks has turned into a complete disaster. A streak of lightning cracked over the lush Onderonian jungle as you and your partner, Jango Fett, quietly listened for the gut-wrenching hiss of the pack of Gutkurrs that were stalking you. You tried to steady your breathing as your heart pounded in your ears, the sound of heavy rain and rumbling thunder doing little to assist you in keeping a sharp ear.

Jango grunted as he tensed beside you; the prominent, red gash in his calf making you frown. You bit the inside of your cheek as you kept his arm over your shoulder.

"Come on, Fett. We only have a bit more to go," you tried to quietly reassure him. Your eyes widened when you heard the sound of plants rustling around you as one of the Gutkurrs release a bellowing roar that echoed through the dense, dark forest. You glanced over at the rugged Mandalorian as he wheezed.

“Har’chaak,” the bounty hunter cursed beneath his drenched helmet [damn it]. You remained as quiet as possible as the sound of shuffling grew closer. You shoved the both of you as much as you could beneath the ledge as the carnivores sniffed the air. You felt your heart drop into your stomach as a bright bolt of lightning illuminated their spiny shadows across the landscape in front of you. You leaned against Jango's helmet when a loud crack of thunder rolled over the forest.

"Are you sure your jetpack is damaged?" you asked. You remained quiet as the thunder dissipated, the clicking of the Gutkurr's claws soon replacing the rancorous sound. Jango slowly nodded his head. You sighed as your heart raced even faster when you saw a few streams of mud cascade over the edge above you. You held your gloved hand over your mouth, your body stiff as the insect-like creatures rumbled lowly.

Your eyes darted around the forest as lighting illuminated the lush greenery. Your eyes landed on the familiar glint of Slave I's energy-shield shining past a thick patch of magenta flowers. A tiny pulse of hope shot through your heart as an idea popped into your head.

"Jango," you whispered loudly. The man grunted while the beasts above you skittered about, dragging their sharp, raptorial legs along the muddy ground with impatience. You pulled a flare from your pack, your eyes shining with anticipation as your breathing grew ragged. The other bounty hunter simply gave a short nod, steadying himself against you as you prepared the flare.

You took a deep breath before you ever so slightly stuck your arm out from beneath the edge. The beasts roared and hissed as a streak of red light flashed across the sky, their footsteps rumbling against the soggy ground as the two of you dashed in the opposite direction. You squinted your eyes as you rushed through the patch of magenta flora resting beneath the thick midstory of the jungle.

Your eyes widened when a cloud of yellow dust unexpectedly sprayed in your face. You felt like someone just punched you in the stomach as you nearly doubled over, Jango slipping away from your grasp before you quickly caught him in your arms. He grunted as if he were trying to suppress a cough while his body tensed in your grasp.

You whipped your head up when a lone Gutkurr suddenly rumbled nearby, the reds of its eyes glowing in the light of the storm.

"Run!" you screamed as you tried to steady him against your side. Jango hobbled alongside you as you desperately ran towards the ship sitting in the thick field before you. Your heart raced as the creature's footsteps grew louder as it dragged it's long raptorial legs along the ground. You nearly slipped on a slick patch of mud before Jango grabbed and threw you forward. The two of you panted as he opened the hatch to his ship with the gauntlet on his wrist. Your lungs burned as you wrapped your hand around his wrist and stomped through the tall grass.

Your heart dropped when the Gutkurr roared menacingly as it launched itself forward and opened its wide, dark maw. Time slowed to a stop as you braced yourself to be bitten in half by its razor-sharp teeth...only to open your eyes when you heard the loud sound of a blaster echo through the field. You gasped when the beast fell in front of you with a pitiful groan, Jango heaving as his hand clumsily fell back to his side. You snapped your head up when you heard the rest of the pack roar nearby.

"Hurry!" you whispered loudly as you helped Jango into the hangar. Your heart nearly stopped when you saw a collection of red eyes glint on the outskirts of the field as the door slowly began to close. You pounded your hand against the button inside, praying it would make it go faster as the carnivores rushed towards Slave I.

You flinched and nearly stumbled back when the door finally locked shut just as the creatures surrounded the attack craft. Your chset rose and fell as you ran a hand through your hair, your mind still racing as your heart pounded wildly. You gasped and braced yourself against the wall as the ship began to rock back and forth, the muffled hissing of the Gutkurrs sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyebrows shot up when the lights suddenly went out, leaving you and Jango in dim lighting as a menacing red glowed through the hangar. The other bounty hunter clenched his fists.

"Dank-" You flinched when the ship shook violently, followed by the frustrated grunts and shrieking of the insect-like carnivores. Jango grunted as he leaned against the wall, the gash in his leg now gushing with blood as he heaved.

You rushed to his side as the emergency lights of his ship flickered each time one of the Gutkurr's slammed their armored bodies against the sides of Slave I. Jango tensed as you gently laid a hand on his lower back, your eyes glowing with softness as you parted your lips.

"Where's the medkit?" you asked, your chest quickly rising and falling as adrenaline coursed through your veins. Jango's shoulders slumped as he tilted his head towards the far left side of the hangar. Your heart pounded in your ears as the ship continued to shake. You frowned as you guided your partner over to an empty seat, his grunts doing little to ease your troubled mind. A trail of blood followed his injured leg as you sat him down as gently as you could.

You furrowed your brows when you laid eyes on his ripped pants, your cheeks glowing with heat as the room grew stuffy in a matter of seconds. You flicked your eyes back up to the emotionless visor of his helmet as you swallowed thickly.

"Okay, um..." your voice trailed off as you got on your knees, your hands hesitantly sliding up to Jango's belt before he grabbed your wrists.

"What do you think you're doing?" the rasped, his breathing ragged as he balled his hands around your wrists. You nervously glanced up at his face as you squeezed your thighs together; the unbearable tension inside you only growing stronger as he touched you.

"I-I need to take off your pants to treat your wound," you said with a shaky voice as goosebumps broke out across your body. You winced as the ship shook again, the lights flickering violently as the creatures dragged their limbs and scrambled alongside the sides of his ship. You tried to take a deep breath as Jango slumped in his seat.

"Fine," he huffed and clumsily unbuckled his belt. Oh, Maker. Your throat grew tight as images of him slamming his cock deep inside your dripping, needy cunt flooded your mind. You shook your head and sucked in a sharp breath as you helped him out of his pants, the fabric falling to the floor and revealing a thin, dark one-piece clinging to his tan skin. You quickly shifted your gaze when your eyes lingered on the outline of his cock straining against his thin body suit.

"Uh...alright," you blinked several times as you desperately tried to suppress the urge to climb onto his lap and ride him until he-

"Just take them off...whatever it takes to patch me up," Jango breathed as he leaned back in the chair and yanked off his helmet. Your eyes widened as you gazed upon his rugged, scarred face. His thick, dark hair clung to his head as he sighed heavily.

You bit your lip as the fabric of your clothes rubbed against your sensitive nipples and slick folds as you adjusted yourself in front of him. Sounds of clanging Beskar plates and shifting fabric echoed inside the hangar as the noises outside began to grow faint. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat as your mind grew hazy at the sight of his thick, heavy cock springing free from the confines of his black one-piece. Your mouth watered as it slapped against the dip of his abs, a large pearl of precum smearing across his sweat-coated skin as he sucked in a sharp breath and shifted in his seat.

You were pulled back to reality when you heard him grunt with pain (or what you assumed to be pain...) and tense in the chair.

"Right!" you said with a strained voice as you rushed over to the medkit hanging on the wall. Your chest grew tight as a heavy wave of arousal suddenly washed over you, the space between your legs growing unbearably hot as you caught your breath.

You shook your head violently before rushing back over, your body shivering with arousal as you threw the kit opened and grabbed a large, clean gauze. Jango hissed and clawed his fingers against the arms of his seat as you wrapped your hands around his gash, putting as much pressure as you could onto the deep wound.

Your walls pulsed when you saw his cock twitch in front of your face, the large vein on the underside of his thick shaft making you wonder what it would feel like if-

"I think you can start cleaning it out now," Jango rasped with a shallow breath. You blinked and looked down at your hands, the bleeding having already slowed down enough for you to start sterilizing the gash. You swallowed and gave him a short nod before taking off your gloves. You felt him slightly shiver while you gently cleaned the wound, as if every lingering touch of your fingers made him sink further into a trance. The bubbling heat inside your core only intensified as you watched the thick bead of precum leak from his slit and down his shaft.

You feared Jango judging you for staring so much...only to see him tilting his head back as he breathed in short, shallow pants. Everything around you seemed to fade away as your core ached with a primal desire - you even nearly missed as you used the field cauterizer to close his gaping wound. Your vision grew blurry as you clumsily put the medical supplies away and sterilized your hands...only to feet Jango's warm palms slide over your shoulders.

"Wait..." he swallowed thickly as a deep red hue filled his sharp cheeks. Your eyes trailed down his rugged chest and lean stomach before landing on his girthy length again. It stood up straight and twitched beneath your hungry gaze as he ever so slightly shifted his hips forward. You whined as he tightened his grip around your shoulders, his dark pupils blown wide as he breathed heavily.

"I need...I need you," he muttered lowly. A bolt of pleasure struck through your core as your eyes widened. You gasped when he pulled you onto his lap, your thighs draped over his as he gripped your waist. You mewled as your breasts rubbed against his chest, your clothed pussy hovering over his weeping cock as he bared his teeth over your pulse.

"I don't know what's come over me...but I just...I need you," his voice dropped several octaves as he growled against your neck. You moaned and arched your back as he slipped his fingers beneath the band of your soaked, muddied pants. You felt him clench his jaw against your cheek as he struggled to contain himself. You gulped and parted your lips.

"Jango...I need you to-" that was enough for him to literally rip your pants off of your legs. Your jaw dropped as your clothes fell into tatters onto the dimly lit floor before he firmly tugged you forward. You ducked your head into his shoulder and screamed when he shoved you down on his girth in one swift, fluid motion.

Your eyes rolled back as his cock stretched your drenched pussy wide open, your cunt already slick and deep as his thick length spread your gummy walls. You swallowed as your cunt fluttered around his shaft as he began to thrust his dick into your burning sex.

“Oh, M-Maker Jango!” you screamed as he bounced you on his cock, your walls squeezing him tightly as your cunt squelched lewdly with every feral thrust of his hips.

"O-Osik," he hissed through gritted teeth as your pussy swallowed his dick whole each time your ass came back down and slapped against his taut, muscular thighs [shit]. You threw your head back as the thick tip of his member railed into your soft, oversensitive g-spot, each tender graze leaving your legs shaking and cunt aching for more.

"Jango," you slurred as your forehead fell against his, your warm breaths mingling while you tried to match his relentless pace. The hangar was flooded with sounds of skin wetly slapping against skin mixed with your combined grunts and moans.

Your eyes shot open when he quickly shoved his lips against yours, your wet tongues quickly finding each other in a sloppy, passionate dance as he pounded into you. You gasped for air when the two of you parted, your lips glossed over with your combined spit as he groaned.

"I want to fill you so badly," Jango growled into your ear as his hands slid down to tenderly squeeze your ass. Your moan rattled through the dark room as the head of his cock slammed against the soft, gummy plug to your womb. "Stuff you with my seed - over...and over..." his breath hitched as your walls pulsed around his veiny shaft. True euphoria pumped through your veins as your core tightened, squeezing his dick in a wet, vice grip as his thrusts began to falter. You whined as a deep, low rumble rose from his scarred chest.

"Yes, yes!" you screamed as your vision suddenly flooded with white. Your body tensed in Jango's hold as your cunt gushed with your warm juices. You babbled and squirmed on his lap as you drenched his inner thighs with your thick cream. Your body trembled as your jaw remained slack, your vision blurred with hot tears of pure bliss. Your body grew limp as your walls contracted deliciously, your mind dizzy and hazy with pleasure as he continued to fuck into your raw, puffy cunt.

You yelped when he released a gutteral groan, his fingers digging into the supple flesh of your ass as his cock twitched deep inside your tight canal.

"Take me - take all of me," Jango snarled as he slammed you down to the hilt, his thick brows furrowed as his cock throbbed against your cervix. You gasped as he soaked your walls with thick ropes of his heavy, warm cum.

"J-Jango," you said with a hoarse whisper as your greedy pussy drank every drop he shot into your tight walls. You whined as his lips brushed against your pulse, his hot breath fanning over your neck as his grip on your hips loosened.

You blinked away the tears of bliss that clouded your vision, the heat within you still lingering as you felt a few loose drops of his cum leak out of your stretched seam and stain your soft, inner thighs. You shot your head up when the regular lights suddenly flickered on, the sound of the storm and the creatures previously lurking outside completely dissipated.

"Looks like the ship's working again," you beamed with a lighter feeling in your chest. Your smile fell when you saw the lingering hunger remaining in his eyes as his cock remained hard within your raw sex. "Jango?" you murmured. You yelped when he rose to his feet, the room spinning around you as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist and hooked your arms over his thick neck.

"I'm not finished yet," the dark-haired man rumbled lowly, his face as stoic as ever as he climbed towards his bunk. "It's too much...too much-" the bounty hunter couldn't even finish his sentence as he swallowed thickly. You keened as his cock gently grinded inside your tight heat every time he ascended the ladder to his chambers. The bunk sliding-shutter was pulled down, allowing the two of you some privacy from the wildlife of Onderon as Jango stepped over to his bed.

Your heart wildly beat against your sternum as Jango laid you down on your back, his muscular form looming over you as his cock remained stuffed half-way inside your slick cunt. He gazed directly into your eyes as he wasted no time and began to rock his hips forward, his thrusts more steady and controlled than before as he rested his toned arms on either side of your flushed face. You threw your head back as every nerve ending in your body lit up with pleasure; the feeling of his heavy shaft dragging along your plush walls making your mouth water and toes curl.

"You're so tight, an'edee," Jango grunted as his brows furrowed with pleasure [all bite]. You had no time to ask what he meant in his native tongue before he started to pick up the pace, his eyes lit with a primal desire as he watched your body bounce with each swift snap of his hips.

You gasped and arched your back as a shiver of arousal crept down your spine, your pussy squelching lewdly with your combined juices each time he pushed his cock back inside your hole. A sharp cry fell from your lips as he perfectly hit your g-spot with a few quick thrusts.

"Y-Yes! Right there!" you keened as your legs shook around his waist. You heard Jango grip the sheets beside your head as he repeated the hypnotic motion with ease, your cunt clamping down on his cock as you moaned softly. The man above you grunted as you rested your hands on his upper back, your nails slightly sinking into his muscles as you writhed with pleasure.

"Haar'chak...I need to make you mine," the bounty hunter rumbled against your skin [Damn it]. You gasped when he unbuckled the latches of your overcoat, his hands making quick work of discarding all of the clothes from your upper body and tossing them aside. You flushed as his eyes locked on your bouncing breasts, his lips slightly parted before he dipped down and latched onto one of your pebbling nipples.

"Oh, Jango!" you cried and arched into his touch as the sounds of your hips slapping against each other grew louder inside the confined space of his bunk.

Your pussy pulsed as the Mandalorian puckered his lips around your bud before gently tugging at it between his teeth. You slid your hands up and slipped your fingers through his thick, black locks as he lavished your sensitive breast. You twitched when he moaned against your areola, the vibrations causing a little more of your warm arousal to smear along his stiff, swollen cock.

"You feel so, so good - I swear I could stay inside you forever," Jango murmured against your plush tit before quickly turning his attention to your other one. Your eyes widened as he swirled his tongue around your neglected nipple, one of his hands slipping down and pinching your other bud between his thick, calloused fingers.

You felt yourself careening closer to the edge of your release with every swipe of his tongue and push of his hips.

"J-Jango, so close," you whined and desperately clenched your walls around his dick, begging for him to stuff you with another heavy load of his seed. You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed, beads of sweat forming on his temples as he filled you over and over with his hard cock. You swore you saw stars in your vision when he dipped a pair of his fingers down and began to rub sloppy circles around your bundle of nerves.

"Cum for me, mesh'la. Let me feel you squeeze this cock before I fill you again," he snarled as he wildly plunged his dick within your puffy, sensitive walls [beautiful]. You released a silent scream as he pressed his thumb down on your clit, a shockwave of euphoria bursting through your core as you squirted all over his lower stomach.

"Yes," Jango groaned as your pussy sucked him in, his breathing growing more ragged while you shattered into a million pieces beneath him. You wailed and babbled his name as your cunt completely soaked the sheets below you, the sounds of his cock sliding into your slick pussy reverberating inside the small bunk.

"Oh, Maker," you managed to squeak out of your tight throat as your body shivered with the aftershocks of your release. Jango gritted his teeth as he wrapped his hands around your waist, his grunts filling your ears along with the sound of his heavy balls wetly slapping against your juicy slit.

"(Y/N)..." the dark-haired man roared as he rested his forehead against your own.

You gasped as his cock stiffened between your creamy walls, his cock buried down to the hilt as the intoxicating feeling of his cum filling you until it burst from the tight space where your sexes were snugly joined. You whined his name as he squeezed your tender love handles, his face contorted with pleasure as he remained tense against your sweaty body. You both released a shaky sigh as he spilled one more thick string of cum inside your rawly fucked cunt.

You closed your eyes as you caught your breath, your body coated with a thin sheen of sweat as you basked in the afterglow. The Mandalorian sighed as he slowly pulled out of you, his softening cock hanging between his legs as he adjusted himself in the small bed. Your bodies were practically pressed chest to chest as he gazed into your eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked between heavy breaths as he knitted his brows. Your heart skipped a beat at his gentle words before you gave a slow, lazy nod.

"Yes...just c-catching my breath," you sighed. Jango grunted as his body seemed to relax against the warmth of your own. A question began to gnaw at your mind, causing your eyes to widen a little.

"Jango, will I get...you know..." you shifted your gaze as heat rose to your cheeks. You've thought about having a child from time to time...but with your current line of work, it's now nothing more than a passing daydream. His dark brown eyes held a rare look of longing as he tightly gripped the sheets.

"No," he muttered. "I...I can't have any younglings of my own," Jango hesitantly continued, his voice now slightly cold as he stared between your bodies. You frowned as your heart sank into your stomach.

"Oh," you replied before glancing away. A heavy silence seeped between the two of you before he sighed heavily.

"It's alright, though. I actually have an opportunity to-" Jango paused, his face growing hard as he pursed his lips. "Well, let's just say I'm able to...adopt one," the bounty hunter chuckled softly. You raised a brow and tilted your head curiously. You chose not to pry and instead remained quiet, the sound of the ship's tech humming filling the space between the two of you. You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to think of something to say after a long period of silence.

"I think that you'll be a wonderful father, Jango," you said with a gentle grin. Jango blinked, his eyes softening as a genuine smile stretched across his rugged, worn features.

"Thank you...mesh’la," the mercenary murmured gently with a faint shine in his eyes.

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @depressesoespressorat @yuhhtricki999 @lavenderbabu @thedevax @famouscattale @spktrgantenk @zombieblogx @mrswhitethornbelikov @migueloharastruelove @galaxy-dusk @samanthashadowriley @theloneshadow24 @xxkay15xx @inspace1 @manlikemilesmyguy @ghostslynx @synamonthy @oharasfilipinawife @scaleniusrm @jotarossshark @acotarobbsessed @8xbygirl @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lyrasdrawer @rinverse

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#jango fett #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut #star wars fic #smut #jango fett x reader #jango fett x fem!reader #jango fett x y/n #jango fett x you #star wars fanfic

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daffi-990 · 1 month

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @diazsdimples, @elvensorceress, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @honestlydarkprincess, @dangerpronebuddie, @exhuastedpigeon, @devirnis and @sunshinediaz. Thank you for the tags lovelies mwah 😘

So it’s actually Thursday for me and I wasn’t going to post anything for WW, but then I sat down today and wrote a little bit of The Well Incident from Rival Firefighters 🚒 and wanted to share it with you.

Enjoy 🙂 (prev snippet here)

It happens so fast.

A sudden crackling of electricity reverts through the air and then people are shouting and Bobby is tackling Buck to the ground just before a bolt of lightning strikes the rig. Then it’s like the world switches to slow motion, Buck feeling like he’s been punched in the gut, like all the air in his lungs has been knocked out of him as the rig falls, as the earth collapses on top of Eddie.

The air is thick with the smell of burning metal and earth, a sharp and acrid scent that fills Buck's nostrils as his heart plummets into his stomach, fear and dread washing over him. He scrambles to his feet, eyes wide with shock and horror.

“Eddie!”

Ignoring the shouts around him, Buck dashes towards, his hands frantically clawing at the wet earth in a futile and desperate attempt to reach Eddie.

Tears blur his vision as he calls out, his voice raw with anguish. “Eddie! Eddie! No!” His hands scrape against the wet, muddy ground as he digs and digs and digs, feeling the grit and moisture under his fingers even through his gloves.

Eddie can’t leave him.

He can’t.

The thought of losing Eddie was like losing a vital organ, a piece of himself that he could not live without. He needs Eddie like a heart needs a pulse. Like lungs need oxygen to breathe. Like a tree needs the sun to grow. Buck needs him and he refuses to let him go, to let him slip away into the darkness, leaving Buck alone and hollow.

His heart is beating wildly against his ribs but he doesn’t stop, continuing to claw at the ground desperately to get to Eddie.

To find him and keep him safe.

Always safe.

“Eddie!”

No pressure tagging: @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @tizniz @steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998 @wikiangela @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @shortsighted-owl @shitouttabuck @theotherbuckley @try-set-me-on-fire @epicbuddieficrecs @evanbegins @rainbow-nerdss @rewritetheending @puppyboybuckley @monsterrae1 @lover-of-mine @loserdiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @athenagranted @fortheloveofbuddie @fiona-fififi @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @homerforsure @jesuisici33 @bekkachaos @bigfootsmom @mellaithwen @missmagooglie @captain-hen @clusterbuck @princessfbi @prettyboybuckley @spagheddiediaz @ladydorian05 @fallingthorns @starlingbite

#daffi writes #fic: stuck now so long we just got the start wrong #rival firefighters fic #buddie wip #buddie #bon appetit 😇

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coltermorning · 5 months

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Of Love and Loss Ch. 9 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: A pack of wolves descend on the camp when you and Arthur are least prepared for it.

Author’s Notes: Chapter nine of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

Nine: Warm Embrace

Word count: 4341

You awoke to the sound of a man’s voice. A yell. Then a horse’s screaming terror. Before you could pick up on anything else, you were on your feet.

You made to grab your rifle, but instead, a sidearm lay at your feet. Arthur’s revolver. You would wring that man’s neck. As soon as you had the thought, you heard a noise that sent cold fear sliding down your spine and made you lurch for the gun anyway—a snarl. That was no man-made sound.

You burst out of the tent and nearly fell backward in retreat. There were six wolves closing in on Arthur and the horses, the two mounts squealing and trying desperately to pull loose. Arthur stood firm with nothing but a knife. Nothing but a goddamn knife, because the fool had given you his gun. You couldn’t do a thing beyond stand there, absolutely stunned. He was going to die.

“Stay back!” Arthur yelled at them, but it was useless. The animals knew they had the advantage and crept forward still. Before you could think to shoot, the one closest to the horses bound forward, causing your horse to swing around and kick out. Another wolf joined the first, jumping high enough to sink teeth and claws into the animal’s rump. You had to fight the urge to cover your ears from the resulting sound that came out of that horse. Pure agony.

“Throw me the gun!” You met Arthur’s eye, and the second it took for him to spot you cost him whatever had been holding the other wolves at bay. The nearest leapt, and Arthur went down. You couldn’t pull the gun up fast enough, like the seriousness of the shot was slowing you. You sent up a prayer that you wouldn’t hit Arthur and shot into the mass of fur and teeth that stood atop him, all while he stabbed at its throat, trying his best not to have his own torn out.

You missed them both.

Another wolf joined the first, going for Arthur’s leg, but he kicked out hard enough that it whined in pain and retreated a step. The last two wolves joined in on the horses who were putting up much more of a fight, but you couldn’t care about that, couldn’t take in the terrible noise of violence and death that resulted. Not when there were two on top of the man who was your only chance at survival.

“Shoot them!” he yelled, the sound muffled from under the massive animal.

You brought the hammer down and shot again, aiming as best you could. You missed the closer wolf but hit the other this time, right on the shoulder. It yelped and turned, biting at the pain under its skin. Arthur thrust his knife up and gutted the wolf atop him in nearly the same moment, and you knew without having to know he had killed it. He was throwing the wolf off of him and yelling in less than a heartbeat. “Give me the goddamn gun!”

You did as he said, tossing it to him as he rose, retreating father against the tent at your back. You had to cover your ears, couldn’t look at what the other wolves were doing to the horses. Not with those horrible sounds coming from them.

Arthur immediately turned and shot the wolf you had in the head, then shot the one he had stabbed for good measure before reloading quick as lightning. He rounded on the other four. Alone.

You stepped backward into the tent. Cowardly. Covering your ears, closing your eyes, knowing he would get himself killed. He would die, and the horses would suffer, and you would get eaten alive. What was worse? Would you rather have died before, falling into nothingness? When the first shots began ringing out, you had your answer: absolutely. Because then you wouldn’t have to bear the pain of losing not two people that meant the most to you, but three.

More shots rang out until you were sure it was six, the revolver not having capacity for more. Then there was nothing but silence, and you started sobbing, knowing what came next. They would find you in here. They would maul you like they had him. Maybe they wouldn’t if you surrendered to them. Did animals recognize submission? Mercy?

The tent flaps rustled and you braced yourself for death until you felt arms folding around you, warm and gentle. Your sobbing turned to broken heaving as you took in the only scent you ever wanted to smell again.

“Shh, it’s okay. They’re gone. I got ‘em.”

You could do nothing but cry into his chest. You should have lost him. Should have died.

You moved your hands until they were grabbing at his coat, pulling him closer, needing to feel the life beating through him.

“I got you,” he said softly. “I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you.”

You pressed your forehead against his chest, his warmth the only tether you had to sanity.

“We’ll be all right,” he said, rubbing a hand up and down your arm to get warmth back in you. Or maybe life back in you. “My horse got away. We’ll be okay.”

That broke through your shock like a slap. You pushed back and looked at him. “And mine?”

He hesitated then shook his head. Dead then. The horse that had carried you miles and miles. The stubborn thing that you hadn’t given much thought to, all because you were too worried about what you had already lost. Just like Arthur. You couldn’t take that. You pushed Arthur back and got up.

“I wouldn’t go out there,” he warned. “Ain’t too pretty.”

You disregarded him and wiped your tears on your coat sleeve so you could see, stepping outside. They continued to well up anyway, your vision blurred and stinging as you took in two dead wolves. Then you turned and saw a sight so grizzly as to make you nearly lose what little you had in your stomach.

Four dead wolves, one dead horse. If it could be called that. It wasn’t so much something that had just been living as it was pure carnage. You were suddenly glad for your blurred vision. Seeing it clearly would have broken you.

You looked away and stepped back, needing a moment. Arthur was just behind you, and you felt the urge to cry into his chest like a child again but fought it off.

“Can you…” You sniffled, letting out a strangled breath. “Can you cut his tail? Bring me his hair?” God knew you couldn’t do it.

“Sure,” Arthur said. He didn’t hesitate, walking over like the scene before him was something he saw every day. Maybe it was.

If he thought the request odd, he didn’t say anything. It was something your parents had taught you. The good horses had their tails cut, their hair saved and braided and used so there was always a piece of them left behind. You felt guilt swallow you over not doing the same for your own two horses back at that cliff, but you had other things to grieve then. This horse had likely saved your life. You had escaped death a second time. And all you could do for it was trudge back into the tent and cry until you didn’t have any tears left.

Goddamn wolves. Arthur was finally starting to see the woman who had existed before the death of her parents. But that woman was gone again. Holed up in a tent for the better part of an entire day. Apart from bringing you that horsehair, he didn’t have the heart to go in and talk to you. He didn’t know what to say. And, lest he forget, it had been his fault you hadn’t had your rifle and he hadn’t had his revolver. You could have taken those animals on together no problem if you had.

Arthur spent the early hours of the morning finding his horse and cleaning up. He dragged the wolves off and skinned the ones worth skinning, taking meat from one. He looked over the damage done to his bedroll and knew there was no fixing the thing—the wolf had shredded it in an attempt to shred him. He tossed that away too. The dead horse was too heavy for him to move. He didn’t have any way to tie it to his own mount for her to drag it away either—it was torn into too many pieces. It would leave the place looking worse than it had been. So he left it, deciding when and if you ever reappeared, he would lead you straight south out of camp so the few trees could block your view of the damage.

He was now plagued with the thought that he had narrowly escaped death and that he had gotten too reckless in leading you. He knew how to survive on his own no problem, but you were distracting him. He had gone to sleep unarmed for christ sake. It was time for him to quit fooling around and do his job.

When Arthur ran out of things to do beyond keep watch, he checked himself over for wounds. His adrenaline wore off a long time ago, and he ached all over from the fight with that monster. He could be hurt anywhere and wouldn’t really know it. He was covered in blood from what he had managed with his knife, so he shed his coat first, seeing what damage it took. There was a gash in one of the arms, the fur along the inside showing. He looked to his arm and saw the resulting scratch cutting through his shirt, but it was shallow. Not warranting stitches. He looked and looked but didn’t find anything else. He was nearly untouched—a goddamn miracle.

He walked to his horse and gave her a few loving pats, glad she had gotten away. She was the best mount he’d had in a long time. He gave her a carrot and checked her over too. She must have gotten away before he had finished his own fight with the wolves. She was unharmed. He would never forget the sight of those four wolves eating the other horse alive though. On its back, on its legs, under its belly. Ruthless animals.

Arthur retrieved a cloth to clean his wound and coat with, pouring water over it. He shed the right half of his shirt from his arm, and the moment the damp cloth touched his skin, he winced. It was so cold he couldn’t feel the pain of the cut, just the frigidness of it. He could sense it now, how low the temperature was dropping. He just hoped the rain that would inevitably turn to snow would hold off.

He finished cleaning the shallow wound then redressed, deciding to stitch up the coat and his shirt later. It was too cold to be without them. He wiped the blood off his face best he could, doing the same to the front of his coat. Cleaning away all the evidence. The blood would just make him hard for you to look at. Well, harder. He weren’t exactly a pleasant sight to begin with.

Satisfied that things were as good as they would get, he went back over to your horse and took everything of value off it. The saddle was scratched to hell, and you wouldn’t be needing it anyway. Boadicea could carry you both. So he left that, digging through the saddle bags. There wasn’t much of anything beyond a few supplies and treats. You must have had that journal of your father’s on you. He did take your rifle out of its scabbard, knowing you could use his, but he was guilty enough over taking it. The least he could do was give you this one back.

He carried the rifle over to the pile of wood that had once been a fire and sat. There was nothing else to do. He could build another fire but didn’t want to leave you long enough to get more wood. All that was left was to wait. The two of you did need to get going soon. All that blood would draw unwanted attention from the local population. He just hoped there weren’t anymore wolves about. He would give you as long as he could, then he would pack up the tent, and the pair of you would move on. Putting all this behind you.

When the snow began again, Arthur cursed it. The weather had been delaying your travel every chance it got. He knew this wasn’t a good time of year to be going so far, but he had still hoped for better than this. The only positive that came of it was your attention, as you soon peeked out of the tent into the dim-lit evening to confirm it was snowing. And from his vantage, he saw that you had braided a piece of horsehair into your own, almost hidden under the shadow of your hat brim. Having your hat on meant you hadn’t been sleeping. Arthur felt the same guilt rise up within him. It was time.

“We better get going if you want to move camp.”

You just looked at him with that troubled expression, like your thoughts weren’t with him. Back to who you’d been before, unspeaking.

He stood, your gun and metaphorical hat in hand. “Listen I’m…sorry about the gun. I didn’t think-” That was it. He didn’t think. Why else did you keep guns at your sides at night other than to ward off trouble? And trouble had come, as deadly as it could have been. There were no more words for it, nothing that could fix what he’d done.

“Arthur?”

He looked at you, surprised to hear you speak. Surprised you had stepped out of the tent and weren’t building up that insurmountable wall within you he was all too familiar with.

“You ever do that again and I’ll shoot you. That’s a promise.”

He couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t smile at me,” you quipped. “You aren’t forgiven.”

His smile only grew. He just knew you would retreat into that shell of yourself you’d been before. Not this. It made him giddy enough to put his foot in his mouth. “You will forgive me eventually though, right?”

“No shot,” you said, going back into the tent without taking your gun. That panicked him. This was a fine line you were walking between the person he had come to know and the one who was so overcome by grief. Exactly how angry were you?

“Wait, I…I mean it,” he said, making you stop at least. “I’m real sorry. That all this happened. That it’s my fault it did.”

You shook your head. “I don’t care about the wolves. They would have come anyway. But we could have taken them on easy if you hadn’t taken my gun. If anything, you owe my horse an apology.”

That cut him. The poor animal had fought a painful death and lost, suffered, because of him. He was just glad one of the two had gotten away, or the pair of you would have been soon to follow.

Arthur nodded, looking to the horsehair in your hair. He could never really make up for this, but he could at least keep his big mouth shut and keep from making it worse.

You went back inside the tent without a word. Arthur let you be and was surprised to see you come back out with bedroll in hand before starting on the tent. He wordlessly joined you in taking it down. It was the least he could do after all the drama that had begun with you hammering the stakes in.

After the two of you finished, he loaded up Boadicea and let you on her first. Then he mounted and went straight south as he had promised himself he would, avoiding any further thought of what you were leaving behind.

You and Arthur traveled through the snow for a long time. It wasn’t falling heavily enough to slow you down, so you rode right through it.

You missed your horse. Your backside ached, your back protesting all the same at the lack of a saddle. If you ever came across a town, you would get another one. You didn’t care if you had to steal it and the horse underneath it too.

At least one good thing had come of the tragedy those wolves had brought—Arthur was subdued. Whether from narrowly escaping with his life or regretting costing your mount his, you couldn’t tell. It was a harsh thought, but seeing him so reflective showed you a side of him you didn’t know existed, and you were glad it did. It certainly existed for you, and you didn’t want to be the only one grieving again. You didn’t want to feel like a child. The way you had broken down in front of him when you thought the wolves were coming for you was embarrassing enough, and you decided then you wouldn’t let that part of you resurface. You had come this far. You were healing. You weren’t letting those wolves take that away from you.

When it got dark enough and you ached enough for two, you broke the silence the snow brought. “Do you know if there’s a town anywhere near?”

You felt Arthur shrug against your hands on his sides, his coat rising and falling beneath your gloved fingers. “Can’t be sure. Usually there’s something this far down the trail. May not be a town, but something.”

That much was true. You could still see a trail to follow, so that was a good sign. The snow hadn’t covered it completely yet.

“Why?”

“Wonder if I can find another horse. Maybe a warm bed to sleep in for a few nights.”

“And here I thought you was a woman of the land,” he jeered.

You swatted him across the arm. He chuckled. “If there is one, we won’t find it tonight. I’d be able to see it from here.”

True again. The land was growing so flat that any settlement lit by lantern light would be bright as a beacon in the darkness.

“Let’s stop then,” you said, tired in more ways than one.

Arthur obliged you, and you were soon rebuilding the tent, tending a fire, eating a bite. Routine.

Arthur shed his coat and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a jagged line across his upper arm, no doubt from the claws of that wolf that had tackled him. You’d forgotten completely to ask if he had been injured.

“Where’d it get you?”

“Just here,” he said, tending to it.

Jealousy flared within you. You had a scar a mile long down your side from a fall. A fall, and Arthur had a full grown wolf try to eat him, and he only left with a scratch?

“How’s yours by the way?” he asked without looking up.

You had kept your side wrapped for about a week after the stitches came out, then had made sure it was clean but done little else. It was healing over now, all that was left a bit of tenderness and a scar that you would never rid yourself of, no matter how badly you spited the memory.

“Fine,” you answered flatly. Arthur’s eyes flicked to you then.

“I have you to thank, you know.”

Of course he did. But you weren’t going to rub it in.

“You hadn’t shot that other wolf and my leg would be dog meat.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t exactly aiming for that one but…”

“It don’t matter,” he said, rolling his sleeve back down, satisfied with the cut. He stood and donned his coat. “We’re alive, that’s all that matters. And I wouldn’t be without you.”

“You keep saying that,” you muttered, resentful.

“I mean it.”

“No, not that. You keep saying it doesn’t matter that I can’t shoot that gun. Well it does. It did. That was as close to dying as it gets, Arthur.”

He shook his head. “I’ll make sure your rifle’s close from now on, and you won’t ever have to shoot mine again. Don’t worry about it.”

That response was so typical of him you wanted to strangle him. He was so lax about life, so unconcerned. There was a such thing as learning from your mistakes, and it made you mad that he didn’t have to. Because he needed to.

“Forget it,” you spat, crossing your arms.

He smiled, and it only made you madder.

“I’m starting to think you like picking fights with me.”

“I don’t. You’re just easy to stay mad at.”

“Awe, you could never be mad at me, nameless.”

You flashed him a dark look. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. What would you prefer I call you?”

You turned away, seeing red. Because he was right. He didn’t have a name to call you. But like hell would you surrender it now.

“It would have been helpful back there,” he said, stepping closer to the fire and crouching, holding his hands out to warm them. “Knowing what name to yell to wake you up so we didn’t both get eaten.”

That was something you didn’t want to dwell on. “We didn’t get eaten last I checked.”

His smile turned crooked it went so wide. So damn satisfied you wanted to wipe it off his face. “Exactly.”

Your eyes narrowed at him. Had he made his point? That you were alive and nothing else mattered? Yes. Were you about to admit it? Absolutely not.

You got up and stormed to the tent in much the same manner as you had the night prior, only rather than teasing you this time, he had made a fool out of you. So you didn’t regret it a second when you shut him out for the second night in a row, even if he was without a bedroll. The snow would be cushion enough.

When you’d finally shaken your anger enough to drift off, Arthur came bursting into the tent. It scared you at first, the memory of those wolves still fresh.

“What is it?” you rasped, shooting straight up.

“It’s freezing,” he said, his arms wrapped around himself as he tried to rub the cold away, his coat damp with snow.

You groaned in annoyance and laid back down. “I didn’t invite you in here.”

“Too bad,” he said as he knelt down anyway. “It’s my tent.”

“Well keep the cold on your side,” you argued, turning your back to him.

You felt something press against the exposed skin of your neck, so frigid you rounded on him. He had taken his glove off, purposely pressed an ice cold hand against you. “Excuse me!” you yelled, incredulous. Then he was laughing like a kid as he settled beside you anyway.

“Little cold ain’t gonna hurt you. Now move over or share.” Meaning your bedroll. The gall of this man.

“Absolutely not.”

He had a laugh on his lips as he said, “Don’t make me fight you, woman. We already seen I’ll win.”

Then his arms were snaking around you, pulling you into him so tight you could feel a heat sting your cheeks that had nothing to do with the temperature. Your heart started racing. You knew he would have been able to feel it had he not been shivering himself. But he was, his frame shaking against you. It thawed your annoyance some, though it didn’t stop you being struck with disbelief at him doing this.

“Just so we’re clear,” you said, needing to make it known lest he realize you weren’t fighting him. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“Like you wasn’t in here freezing your ass off too.”

You had been. You couldn’t deny it was much warmer lying against him. And worse, it was…oddly comforting. Kind of nice. But still your heart pounded, not knowing much, but knowing this was intimate somehow. The last time you had laid against someone this close, it had been your own mother. You didn’t want to think about how differently you seemed to react to it this time. To why. Instead, you let yourself be for a moment, ignoring what you should do, ignoring what was expected of a man and a woman who hardly knew each other. You allowed yourself the simple privilege of touch, something you had never had before. Even if it didn’t mean a thing to Arthur or to you.

After too little thought and lots of silence, you realized he was relaxed, his shivering long gone. You should push him away. Should take his steady breathing in your ear to mean he’d fallen asleep like this. But for some reason, you thought he was just as awake as you were. And that made your heart race even worse. Was he doing the same thing you were, holding you just because he could? Surely he knew better. You could claim ignorance, but he couldn’t. Not after how he had talked just last night.

Afraid he would feel your nervousness through your coat, you whispered to him.

“Arthur.”

He didn’t stir. Asleep then. You were overthinking it. And, like a true moron, you didn’t want to wake him. You realized with no small amount of embarrassment that you wanted to sleep like this too. You were just curious about it all, you told yourself. Nothing more. So you let him be and closed your eyes, melting into his warmth. It took a long time for your thoughts to stop lingering where they shouldn’t, and when they finally did, they didn’t improve much. You were left wondering why you had ever wanted to stay on the opposite side of the tent from this man.

_________

Chapter ten is here.

tag list: @tommys0not0beloved @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

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sentientsky · 2 months

Text

here, have a little angelfish ficlet (ft. lots of queer yearning. also. “be gay, do crime” vibes)

It's all the same; a slow, monotonous dragging of time through liminal space. There had never been room enough for shifting tides or changing winds—no room to stretch one's wings. Because Heaven, by its very nature, is antiseptic. Pure autoclave, all pressure and steam and the absence of touch. That's part of the deal. You want to keep the wings? The halo? Well, then, you have to learn to live under the fluorescent glare of a silent god.

It's all the same, save for the slippery red heat of Michael's heart hurling itself staccato against her breastbone. In truth, it’s a heart that doesn’t really need to beat—that doesn’t need to exist at all, save for her inclination to feel the heavy weight of it writhing in her chest. In a way she doesn’t quite yet understand, she wants proof. She wants to feel her pulse, feel it move in a way that leaves a mark, bruises flesh.

She sits with her hands folded, one pressed over top of the other. From afar, it might even look as though she’s praying (it might look as though she’s holy, still held firm in the Mother's grasp). She breathes in. Slow, tentative—as though the air might carry unspoken words out and away from her. There’s a certain chilling numbness that creeps up on you when you’ve lived this way for so long; a buzzing static that burns from the base of your skull, all the way down to the backs of your knees, your calves—the place where your feet hit the ground running (always running, always dying to get out even as you lean into the punches). It’s the feeling of living in the hollowed-out limbs of a corpse, of walking around with waxen, rotting flesh and a smile that stretches slightly too far to be genuine.

And yet, now, for once, her body is no longer whirring—no longer silently humming with agitation or the drive to propel herself forward and up, ever up. For once, she’s still, save for the thrashing in her throat. She breathes out. She rolls words around in her mouth: flashpoint, epiphany—whispers them like a prayer spoken to no one—lightning strike, catalyst. A thread pulled so taut, it cuts to marrow. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep the pace, hold the line. Adjust to the status quo. But the status quo has never looked so unappealing. Because, she realizes, if someone had asked her to paint the slope of a silver-blue throat, or the upturned palm of a scaled hand, she could do it with her eyes closed. She could do it in complete darkness, at the edge of existence. Of this she was nearly certain.

--- It had taken place in the corridors that stretch from one end of infinity to the next; a slicing wound driven between the ribs of the universe. And it had been innocuous, really—a passing glance, at first. And then an icy nod, the turn of a jaw towards the stale light. The brush of shoulders, and the ache that bloomed in her at the touch. Time wore on, kingdoms rose and fell. The sea drew towards the shore, Michael’s eyes drew towards a too-sharp mouth. In their own fragment of purgatory made heaven made something completely new, she and Dagon exchanged rasped whispers—hushed murmurings of a revolution.

The inferno in her gut grew, consumed, devoured. Years clawed past. It's important to note that angels, as imagined in most popular religious scripture, are exceptionally good at self-restraint. And for the most part, this is true. But those who wrote the holy texts never considered the canted slope of the devil’s mouth; they never imagined that the devil could be gentle, could press her palm to yours like a promise and speak new religion into being. And so, after what could have been eons or mere decades, they fell together, breath intermingling in the space that had become more sanctuary than abyss. Flashpoint, epiphany. It had been inevitable, really. Lightning strike, catalyst. They were two neutron stars collapsing in on themselves. Gravity, heat, the press of a sigh into her open mouth. The hunger that settled in the bottom of her gut. --- So when Gabriel walks into her office, head held high and grinning, Michael swallows it all down. She chokes it back, feels all the love she has for her demon lodge in her throat and stay there.

Of course, she could open her mouth now to speak and have it all tumble out onto the floor. She could Fall—had Fallen already, in a sense, the world pitching around her with the weight of all she wanted but could not have. The muscles of her back ached, wings flickering somewhere in the aether, thrashing like an augury. Like an omen. Let it ache, she thought. Let it wound me, infect me, take me down. If this is my destruction, so be it. Beneath the desk, the blade in her hand glittered like a piranha’s open mouth. Maybe Heaven needed a little shaking up, after all.

#i'm too tired to edit this properly so this is just me chucking a lil ficlet at your feet and collapsing into bed! good fuckin night #go sapphics go! i used she/her pronouns for both of them but i plan to mix it up more in the future #good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #go2 #good omens fanfiction #angelfish #michael x dagon #dagon x michael #ineffable administration #good omens fic #angelfish ficlet #angelfish fanfic #gomens #gomens 2 #good omens ficlet #my writing #long post

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gamersansblog · 1 year

Text

Chapter 1

The change

Summary: How the world changed

Warning: cursing,mention of gore, gore, killing and mention of killing, death

Tags:

******

Kaiju (kaigū, Japanese) Giant Beast

Jaeger (Jā'gar, German) Hunter

"When I was a kid whenever I feel small or lonely I look up the stars." "wondered if there was life up there....turns out I was looking at the wrong direction"

"When Allen life entered our world it was deep beneath the pacific ocean...a fisher of two tectonic plates a portal between dimensions"

Thr deep of the pacific ocean with blue lightning as it flames erupted flames also erupting making a portal of the other world

"The breach.... I was 15 when the first kaiju made land in San Francisco"

A monster bigger then the a bridge roars loudly while destroying a bridge with people in their cars still.

Fighter jets zoom across the bridge and starts shooting shooting the monster called a kaiju.

One the fighter jets crashed at the claws of the kaiju and exploded.

"By the time tanks, jets, and missles took it down 6 days and 35 miles later. 3 cities were destroyed. Tens and thousands of lives were lost"

The blaring of the alarm and loud screams of people while running around trying to find cover.

Workers are walking up a hill where the kaiju destroyed and up to where the kaiju was laying dead

"We morned their death and memorialized the attack and moved on..."

Obama is talking about we will stand united against this threat.

Graves are shown of how many people died during the kaiju attack.

people screaming and running away while a different kaiju rose showing its face. The building being destroyed by the kaiju.

"Then only six months later the second attack hit Manila"

A foot foot of a kaiju beast showed on the news then people using exilators to pick up the remains of the kaiju or the remains of the attack.

"After factor of the kaiju blood creates a toxic phenomenon called kaiju blue" the reporter said ot the screen shows a man sticking out his hend showing the kaiju blood that was dark blue

"Then the third one hit Carbo. Then the fourth then we learned this was not going to stop this was just the beginning"

The boat was slowly drifting somewhere as it carries a skeleton kaiju with guts next to it. People holding hands as they watch the flames and smoke erupt after the kaiju attack.

Flames everywhere as a kaiju screeches.

"We needed a new weapon.....The world came together, pooling its resources and throwing aside old rivalries"

Presidents pooling put their information so they can make a machine to destroy any kaiju that come put of the breach.

Robots melting and working on metal.

The metal that is a chest plate slowly lowers down to connect to the other pieces.

"For the sake of the greater good" "To fight monsters, we created monsters of pur own"

A women engineer is working on wiring whole talking to someone...

Half of a metal body is standing while workers work on it including the other one

"The yeager program was born"

A man raises his head wearing a helmet like thing.

Another man is waring a arm that has wires and holds the arm out and squeezes his hand while another hand I the background copies him.

"There were setbacks at first... The neural laid to interface with a yeager proved to much for a single pilot..."

Men are draging a man to a seat and set him down while the man. The man seat looked dazed. Doctors lowered his eye while shining a light showing slight blood in his eye while his nose suddenly started bleeding.

"A two-pilot system was implemented. Left Hemisphere, Right Hemisphere pilot control."

"We started winning. Jeagers stopping Kaijus everywhere. But the jaegers were only good as their pilots."

Soilders where marching while confedie and loud cheer while a Jaeger was being pulled.

A jaeger taking down a kaiju.

"So jaeger pilots turned into Rockstars danger turned into a propaganda. Kaijus into toys."

"We got really good at it... Winning"

"Then.......them it all changed..."

#male reader #male reader insert #call of duty modern warfare #cod x male reader #cod x reader #gay #pacific rim x call of duty #pacific rim x call of duty crossover #pacific rim x reader #pacific rim x male reader

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visage-of-hell · 1 month

Text

(Continued from here:

For days she had been letting the aftermath of her ill-fated 'mission' fester in her gut. It had been reckless and stupid of her to ever accept that damned party invitation from a conniving wretch like Valentino ... but her hubris had been her downfall. So assured of her innate advantages as a hellborn ... and the more powerful Overlord she had aligned herself with. It had made her overconfident. Stupid. And now she had paid the price for it. What's more, she had put those who she cared most about in extreme danger and compromised the security of all she had built thus far. Where would she even begin admitting that kind of failure to her 'partner'...? Yet she would have to eventually, she knew ... for the longer she concealed the existence of the contract she had been tricked into signing, the more strained their 'working relationship' would become. And so her patience for Alastor's antics was even less than usual, which is what had put them at odds with one another that particular night. It was as though the hellhound were made entirely of dry kindling and the Radio Demon's every word were stray sparks coming ever closer to sending her into an out-of-control blaze. And then his crimson talons snatched her by the snout and dragged her in close. The spark was ignited--she could feel the white-hot rage rising from the pit of her stomach, seconds from erupting into a fiery outburst ... until the feeling of his lips pressing against the end of her nose gave her immediate pause. It was as though all of her rage had been snuffed out in one confusing act that left her too dumbfounded to maintain that same level of anger. Though the tone and intent behind the antagonizing act couldn't have been more different, flickers of depraved memories shot through the hound's mind like flashes of lightning illuminating the dark. Valentino's mouth on hers ... bodies pressed ... the rake of his gold-tipped claws through her fur ... the feeling of him as he... She physically flinched in revulsion as she forced herself to stop thinking about it--about how she had reveled in the filth of it all. And given the context of what had just happened, it was thankfully easy to misinterpret her recoiling as a reaction to Alastor's kiss instead of the truth. Her words came as a low growl, each syllable forced out through clenched teeth. "After the week I've had, Smiles ... the last thing I need is more of your shit, alright? So ask me for whatever the fuck it is you came to ask for and get it over with. This is when the other fuckin' shoe drops, right? Where I start to regret ever agreeing to this lil' 'business partnership' in the first place...?"

#Threads: TeethSharpAndShe'sReadyToGo #radioiaci #I love it when two separate plots converge together in a perfect storm of CHAOS

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miasmaghoul · 1 year

Note

Rainy x Mountain in heat if your comfortable?

Rain is being mean again.

"Rain...Rainy, please," Mountain pants, hips jerking haphazard as his claws dent into Rain's jeans.

"I don't recall saying you could speak," Rain mutters, low and uninterested. He adjusts his glasses and licks the tip of his thumb, flips to the next page of his book. Mountain whimpers.

He doesn't know how long he's been down here, the haze in his mind blocking out everything beyond his points of physical contact. His knees ache from how long he's been on the stone floor at Rain's feet. His fingers shake where they're pressed into Rain's leg. His cock is wet and aching, rock hard and twitching nonstop. Another thick spurt of precum leaks from the slit, further lubing his crazed thrusts against the wet denim at Rain's shin.

Mountain bumps his forehead against Rain's knee, mewling and gasping as the thread in his gut begins to unravel for the umpteenth time tonight. Mountain dreads the lack of relief that will follow it. He needs more. Rain doesn't seem to care, and Mountain can't believe how much he likes that fact. He bumps Rain's knee again with greater intent and the water ghoul sighs, lifting his book to see Mountain's miserable face.

"What? I told you not to be an interruption," Rain says, annoyed. He peers over his glasses, raises an eyebrow, and the combination shoves Mountain right over the edge again. He shoots all over Rain's stained pants, his cock spasming and not even close to going soft between rounds any more. Mountain wheezes and groans, shaking as Rain rolls his eyes.

"R-Rain, please, please I - not enough, it's not enough-"

"Stop whining, it's obnoxious," Rain sneers, tagging his page and setting his book to the side. The only sign that he has been affected by Mountain's torment is his cock, soaked with drool and pre, jutting rigid from his zipper. "Stand."

Mountain's skeleton is vibrating. He's going to burst out of his skin any moment now. He's made of lightning and magma, splitting him apart at the seams. He pushes himself up on impossibly weak legs, and Rain makes a soft noise of disgust when he stumbles against the bed.

"Satanas, you're pathetic like this," he says, standing and grabbing his book. Rain's dick sways with his smooth steps and Mountain drools, his cock spitting again. Rain reclines on the bed with his legs crossed at the ankle. Mountain's eyes are glued to his length, to the thick vein that runs root to tip. Rain settles into the pillows and gets back to his page, gesturing at Mountain with a bored look on his face. "Well? Make yourself useful at least."

Mountain scrambles onto the bed, gasping as his cock throbs, blood hot. He crawls over Rain, straddling his slender hips and immediately sinking down onto the water ghoul's slick length with urgency. He keens with it, the burn of the sudden stretch answering some of the cry of the heat beneath his skin. The moment he bottoms out he's cumming again, thick and hot over Rain's shirt. He balances with his hands on Rain's thighs as he cries out, struggling to catch his breath.

"Fuck me," he rasps, the fire in his nerve ending threatens to atomize him, "Rainy you gotta-"

"Quiet down," Rain interrupts, turning another page. "I told you not to bother me. You want it? You work for it."

Mountain shouts as Rain's cock throbs inside him, sobbing as he rolls his hips and begins to ride. The drag of Rain against his walls is ecstasy, the bump of the flared head against his prostate sparking stars behind his eyes. Words are pouring from his lips against his will, Mountain's chin dropped to his chest.

"Do what you want, but you're not getting my knot until I'm ready." Rain flips another page and Mountain feels like the world is imploding.

"Yes sir," he groans, that coil of arousal unfurling fast, waiting for the world to go gray around the edges.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #rain/mountain #mean rain supremacy

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vampire-exgirlfriend · 5 months

Note

wyllaemond smut prompt: the fox of karhold and the rogue prince (ot3 verse)

well, this absolutely ran away with me. so much for being 1k words.

fall on me like night

pairing: aemond targaryen x oc wylla karstark

rating: e

words: 4.5k

this is a future outtake from the ot3verse, no more than i was or than i am, which you can find here

Lovely did not do justice to his sister's newest lady in waiting.

No, the Fox of Karhold was not lovely.

Haunting, perhaps. Or maybe devastating was a better word.

Her face was an amalgamation of features that may have been plain on anyone else: soft cheeks, rounded jaw, rosebud mouth. But her skin was pale as the moon, her eyes as gray as a storm that built off the coast. Narrowed in distrust as they were now, that storm built until he could swear he heard lightning in the distance.

“You want to dance?” she asked. “With me?”

The pointed question poked at the tender bruise of Aemond's ego. “That's what I said, isn't it?” he snapped, all snarling teeth but little heat.

He did want to dance with her. He'd watched her flit around all evening, draped in black velvet, diamond starbursts in her hair - hair that fell loose and curling to mid thigh. ‘Was it heavy,’ he wondered, ‘all that pretty midnight hair?’

“Fine,” she answered, her voice matching his bite even through her thick northern accent, and slid her small hand into his.

His uncle had goaded him into asking her, watching him as he watched her. “Go on then,” Daemon had said. “It's depressing to witness.” He had softened, pushing lightly at Aemond's shoulder when his face tightened at the implication. “She won't deny you. The pretty little creature has been casting furtive glances all evening.” He turned away then, back to Rhaenyra and Alicent beside her, both smiling at whatever inane thing they spoke of, his mother in a tiara of silver and emeralds, his sister in their father's crown. Rhaenyra turned toward him, as if she felt his stare, and gave him an encouraging smile, giving away that they had been talking about him.

Wylla Karstark’s hand was cool in his, as if the northern winds coursed through her veins instead of blood. It eased the heat that licked at his skin, ever present, perhaps more so since he had claimed his dragon.

“You're a better dancer than your brother,” the fox said primly, her eye on some faraway point over his shoulder as he guided her in the steps of the dance. His hands found her waist, pressing tighter than was altogether appropriate. But the way she inhaled sharply at his touch was worth the impropriety.

Aemond looked to where Aegon danced with his wife, Abrogail Strong. The red head was dainty, graceful even, and Aegon could not tear his eyes from her.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“I think this is the nicest you've been to me since I've arrived.” There was distrust in her voice.

Aemond bristled. “You say that as if I've been cruel.”

She laughed and the sound pulled at something low in his gut. It was a large laugh, boisterous, too big for her small frame. He wondered where she hid it. “Not cruel. Only disdainful. Distant.”

“You are my sister's lady,” was all he said in answer.

Helaena had taken to Wylla immediately upon her arrival from the frozen wastes she called home, wrapping her in dragon’s claws and claiming she would like to keep her. It made him happy to see she had finally found another friend. And Wylla did make her smile, letting his sister set her beetles to crawl over her skirts or placing moths in her hair like jewels.

He glanced down and found her staring up at him, head cocked, and suddenly he felt like prey, stalked through the Kingswood. But Aemond was not prey.

He was a dragon.

Leaning forward, he placed his cheek to her temple, feeling the little shiver that ran through her. “You have lovely eyes,” he murmured, and prayed the line would not leave him embarrassed.

Wylla cleared her throat. “Thank you, my prince.” He spun her then, the long bell sleeves of her gown fluttering around them. “Yours is lovely as well.”

He believed she meant it and smiled down at her, noticing for the first time a small scar that cut through her top lip.

The song ended and his fox was pulled away, though she kept her gaze on him until the crowd swallowed her up.

—

A week had passed since the queen's birthday feast and Rhaenyra had been in a happy mood. Her second-born, Prince Lucerys, had arrived back in King's Landing after a time spent warding with their aunt, Princess Rhaenys, and the Sea Snake. He was tan skinned from all the time spent aboard a ship, the tawny making his hair shine more gold than silver, all smiles and tales of life at sea.

Devoid of her attention, and subsequently his mother and uncle's, Aemond wandered until he found himself in his favorite spot in the gardens. A statue of Visenya the Conqueror rose up from a stone dais, her hand on the hilt of Dark Sister, her eyes cast to the distance. A fountain bubbled around her feet, and blooms he knew to be poisonous crawled up her legs like armor, blood red and a purple so dark and deep as to be nearly black.

There was a rustle of fabric from behind the statue and he leaned over to find Wylla Karstark looking over him, gray eyes wide.

Her raven hair gleamed in the torchlight, lit by servants as the sun set. Though they were alone now.

The thought curled deliciously in his gut.

“You could ask for her hand,” Daemon had said after the feast. “You know you want her. And her brute of a father would never turn you down.”

“Apologies, my prince,” she said, rising to her feet, blue skirts the color of the night sky tumbling around her legs. It was the same shade of blue as the sapphire he wore in place of his eye, lost six years ago in a sparring accident when he and Lucerys had been foolish enough to attempt live steel, both boys feeling as if they had something to prove.

“Aemond,” he choked out after a long moment.

“Excuse me?”

“My name.”

She raised a thin brow, finely arched. “Yes, I know your name.”

“You may call me Aemond.” He felt the blood creep into his cheeks.

“Och, is that right?” She was teasing him and he wasn't sure if he loved or hated it. “Well then, Aemond,” she purred, “I must be on my way.”

She passed, and as if his hand had a mind of its own, he reached for her, his fingers closing around her wrist. “Must you?” he asked.

The fox did not pull away. Instead she looked up at him from beneath sooty lashes, so long they graced the round of her cheek when she blinked away her surprise.

“Stay,” he commanded, though his voice nearly trembled with the word.

“I -.”

Aemond kissed her then to silence her. It was clumsy, foolish, but she didn't not push him away. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his doublet as if to hold him closer and his own hands found her waist to draw her against him. He had the feeling neither of them knew what they were doing, not truly. At least he did not, having only shared a few kisses with Helaena when they had snuck too much wine two years ago. But Helaena was to wed their nephew now, and Jacaerys made her happy.

He could not let her take Wylla to Dragonstone, not when he had only just found her.

They broke apart for a gasping breath and a flush crept over Wylla's snowfall skin.

“Do you often kiss women in secret gardens?” she asked, taking the measure of him.

He shook his head, though he could not help throwing back his own barb. “Do you often allow strange men to kiss you in secret gardens?”

“Not until tonight.”

He hummed and kissed her again, one hand finding its way to tangle in the hair at the back of her neck. A weak moan fought its way from between her lips, now swollen and pouting, and the sound of it nearly tore him apart.

Aemond backed her up in shuffling steps until they came to rest against the stone wall, the ivy framing her body and for a moment he wished it would entangle them, keep them hidden in this moment forever.

“Do you still find me disdainful?” His voice was a low rasp, stuck somewhere in his throat. He kissed across her jaw, down the column of her neck, his lips seeking purchase against any inch of bare flesh as his hand rose to brush a thumb over the little scar that marred her top lip. Visions of sinking his teeth into her danced across his mind and he wondered if she would enjoy the sting of pain as he did, a pleasure he had discovered when handling himself too roughly one evening, visions of her in that black dress painted behind his eyelids.

The girl blinked up at him, as if his words had only barely registered, and he felt a warm bloom of pride beneath his ribs. “Not terribly so,” she admitted, though her face was a strange mix of irritation and arousal, her eyes falling back to his mouth. He kissed her again, licking at her mouth, hoping for a taste. But her hands found his chest and she pushed gently. “I meant it when I said I must leave. The princess will require her bath soon and I must -.”

“And what of your prince?” He was pouting now, a familiar stinging petulance rising up in him. Aemond gathered her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her jaw, tightening a fraction too much. But she did not wince; she simply glared and pushed harder, ducking to slip beneath his arm.

“I’m sure the prince can find a multitude of ways to entertain himself in my absence.” The words were snappish, a cold wind, and he saw how she had earned her nickname, with her narrowed eyes and the feral cut of her mouth.

She gave him no time to reply, stomping through the arch and back toward the keep.

—

“You are pouting.” The soft voice curled around the shelf that he currently hid behind.

“I am not pouting.”

An indelicate snort of laughter, followed by the rustling of fabric, and suddenly his eldest sister sat beside him.

Rhaenyra did not wear her crown today. Instead her starlight hair was twisted into a series of braids that gathered at the back of her head before falling down her back in gentle waves. Her violet eyes, nearly the same shade of his, hid a glimmer of mischief, as if being queen held not a candle to the mental torture of her younger brother.

“Fearsome little Aemond, pouting over a girl.”

He glared. “And to think, the queen of the Seven Kingdoms sits on the floor in a library to tease her brother. Not particularly regal of you.”

“It’s a fair use of my personal time.” She nudged her shoulder against his, but he did not look at her, his eye still focused on the tome in his hands - the tome he had reread the same section of over and over. “The northern girl?” She asked.

Was he so hopelessly transparent? Had he become so pathetic?

“Not entirely pathetic, no.”

Aemond groaned when he realized he’d spoken the words aloud, dropping his head back against the shelf, the dull thud of it making his sister laugh.

“Aemond -.”

“Please don’t.”

She laid a hand on his knee. “I may have overstated your patheticness for my own amusement. But truly, you’re doing nothing wrong. Not nearly as ridiculous as your brother for the Strong girl or even Jace for Helaena. Of all my siblings, of all my children, you are the most stoic. But you aren’t doing anything wrong or shameful or embarrassing.”

“I hate this feeling. I hate the way it eats at me, the way it feels lodged in my chest.” He resented it, wanted to punish the girl for the sin of making him want her. At the same time though, he longed to see her smile directed at him, even if it was accompanied by her nearly constant ire.

Her answering smile was soft and for the first time in a long time, Aemond remembered how young she truly was, less than two decades his senior. Rhaenyra shifted, the black silk of her gown shimmering in the light that came in through the high windows. “If you’re lucky, that feeling never fades.” She waved her hand. “Take the girl flying.”

He made a face. “I heard her tell Helaena she does not care for the dragons.”

“To be fair, the largest animal she’s seen, other than a horse, is those wolves of the north. Dragons are fearsome, they are magic made flesh. You, my favorite brother, are a dragon.”

Aemond rolled his eye. “Aegon is your favorite.”

“No, he is simply the most like me. Which probably makes him your mother’s favorite.”

“Hateful,” he teased, the knot of worry in his chest loosening slightly. “Daemon says I should simply ask her father for her hand.”

“Please only listen to your uncle in small increments,” she sighed, dropping her own head back beside his. “Just…just go to her. Learn her. Know her. See what you find.”

The idea of knowing Wylla, of learning her, made some dark thing, hot and a little wild, curl up in his belly - a feeling that was altogether uncomfortable as he sat beside his sister, his queen, on the library floor. Aemond shifted and then stood, reaching down for Rhaenyra, who took his hand and rose to her feet. She did not reach for him, did not comfort him in the way she might Aegon, who basked under physical contact like a satisfied cat. Instead she looked at him, truly looked, and the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. “You are a dragon,” was all she said before turning and walking out of the room, leaving him alone with his desires.

—

The low torchlight was Aemond’s only companion as he traversed the tunnels, counting his steps and praying that he wasn’t about to open the wrong door. From Helaena’s rooms, Wylla’s should only be a handful of paces away, close enough that Helaena could call on her at any time should she need her.

He stood before the seam that should open into her room, directed beside the fireplace, if his rememberings were correct, and wondered if he was altogether insane for even considering this. Rhaenyra had told him to dismiss her husband’s advice, but he could think of nothing else since Daemon’s sly reminder that the little fox was prime for the taking in her own rooms, with no one around to distract them. “How could she deny you?” he’d asked. “You are far too like me to say no to.”

Aemond was not sure that was the compliment his uncle believed it to be, yet here he stood, torch in hand, his fingertips pressed to the rough stone as he imagined the girl lounging across her bed. ‘Did she sleep beneath northern furs?’ he wondered. ‘Would she taste like wine she had snuck before bed?’

Forgetting his misgivings and focusing on that dangerous tendril that snaked through him, Aemond pushed open the door, setting the torch in the iron holder beside it. He blinked when he entered the room.

Candles burned low on nearly every surface and the air smelled of cinnamon, thick and spicy, but not cloying. The bed was empty, as was the chaise at the end of it.

Water splashed to his left and his head snapped in that direction, eye widening at the sight of her in the tub.

Wylla’s gray eyes were wide, a small paring knife in her hand, clutched between her slender fingers. He saw the tray of fruit on the small table beside the metal tub.

“What in the hells are you doing?” she hissed.

He noticed that she did not shout, did not raise her voice to alert the guards, and a new sort of confidence built in him.

Aemond stalked closer to the tub, his eye darting between her face and the knife she clutched. Lower still, he found the soft round of her breasts only just covered by the still steaming water. Her hair was plaited and piled loosely at the back of her head to keep from getting wet, tendrils curling around her jaw and he wanted to lick the water droplets that raced down her neck.

“Put down the knife,” he murmured, his eye darkening at the idea of just what she might do to him with it. It was not an altogether unpleasant imagining.��

But Wylla did not put down the knife. Instead, she stood, baring herself to him, teeth showing in a snarl that went straight to his cock. Her breasts were small, no more than a handful each, and her waist tapered before blooming into hips that were wider than he had expected. He could imagine exactly how her plump rear would feel in his hands. “Why exactly would I do that?” she asked. “You sneak into my room from some hole in the wall and expect what? A warm welcome?”

His gaze traveled over her body, cataloging each freckle and blemish that marked her pale skin. Surrounded by steam and wet as she was, he wondered if this is what those old gods of hers looked like: silent, though wild, beautiful and yet terrifying.

He wanted to taste her, to sink his teeth into her soft flesh, and found that he was at a loss for words. Stepping closer, never taking his eyes from her, he approached the tub. The heat was delicious as it rolled off of her, and he desired nothing more than to strip from his doublet and press close against her, close enough to imprint himself upon her. Gently, more gently than he realized he could, he reached forward, his fingers twining around her wrist. When she did not release the blade, he squeezed, reveling in the way her delicate bones felt against his palm.

The knife clattered to the ground and Wylla opened her mouth, likely to attack him with her teeth, but Aemond pulled her forward with a sharp jerk and pressed his lips to hers. Before she could shove at him, fight him off, he pulled her from the tub, pressing her wet body to his, molding her to him.

She surprised him then, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply, and with a little jump, her legs wrapped around his waist. Aemond moaned and she licked into his mouth, her tongue curling behind his teeth, her fingers gripping hard at his unbound hair.

In a clumsy rush, he walked them to the bed, doing his best to avoid tripping over unfamiliar furniture. He did not dump her against the furs, instead curling his body around hers, his hands finding her waist, her ribs, her breasts. She made eager little noises beneath him, finding the ties at the front of his doublet and ripping at them impatiently. He shed the damned thing and could not help but moan when she found his bare skin.

“My father will demand your head for this,” she murmured as he licked a trail over the column of her throat.

“He can’t.” His reply was breathless as he shifted, kissing the top of her breast before wrapping his lips around her peaked nipple. Wylla whined at that, arching her back.

“No?” It was a silly pointless question.

Aemond clutched at her other breast, molding it against his palm, delighted at the way his hand engulfed her flesh. “Not if you are my wife.” He abandoned his groping to undo the ties at his waist, lowering his breeches and small clothes until finally his cock was free, so hard it bobbed, throbbing against her thigh.

Wylla stilled beneath him. “Are you…asking me to marry you?”

The insanity of the moment, of the words he’d actually uttered, slammed into him. But such had been his uncle's advice and he owned the ludicrousness of it. “I don’t believe I asked.”

“You are telling me to marry you?”

‘Please, please, please,’ his heart thrummed, though his pride would not allow the begging question to cross his lips.

He kissed her soundly and pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down sharply, as if asserting his desired ownership. “Yes,” he mumbled against her wet flesh.

A fearful look chased away the ire and desire he had seen just a second ago. “I cannot. I…I am promised to Lord Bolton’s son.” She gently gathered his hair in her hand, tugging sweetly at the ends of it in a gesture that had him wanting to rub against her like a cat.

Aemond expected rage. He expected that violent creature that lived in him to raise up, to swallow him and her both. He realized that she had allowed things to go as far as they had in a bid at claiming a bit of independence, a fantasy to cling to when she was back in the cold north, wife to a savage that burnished a flayed man on his banners. But it did not. Instead, something more solid, more demanding took its place. “No,” he said simply.

“No?”

“You are mine.”

He slid a hand between them then and found the place she wanted him most, and thanked the gods that his brother had beaten him over the head with bawdy retellings of his own escapades with his wife.

Wylla’s head fell back as he teased at her entrance, a finger dipping in only to retreat a second later. He found that little shock of nerves, working at it gently until she moaned for him, the sound surprisingly husky. She bucked against his hand and he surmised that she wanted more. So he finally took mercy and pierced her with a single finger.

There was something shocking about the tightness of her, and it kept him locked in his body, unable to tear his eyes from her as she writhed. Another finger added, and this time he curled them forward, tearing a groan from her chest. Fumbling hands found his cock and she stroked at him, no real finesse to her touch, but he was so desperate for her that it mattered not at all. All he longed for was to help her find his end, for he knew he would not last once he was inside of her.

His mouth found her breast again and she was so responsive to his touch, wanton even, when he sank his teeth into her, that it spurred him on. Aemond ground the heel of his hand against that spot that made her cry out, two fingers pumping in and out of her at a speed he slowly increased. The flutters around his hand were surprising, grasping at him as if to keep him there, and Wylla lifted her hips, riding him as best she could until she fell apart, panting his name, pulling him up and demanding a kiss as she whimpered.

She glowed beneath him and he could swear that her skin shined with the light of the moon. Had she hidden it beneath her skin, like some myth of old?

The question died in his mind as he pressed inside of her, and the world narrowed to only the places where she touched him. She was hot, scaldingly so, and so tight that he could not stop his eye from rolling back. A pained whimper caught his attention and when he looked down at her, her face was pinched in discomfort. He kissed the line between her brows, stilling until she relaxed. He wanted desperately to be gentle for her, but now that he was inside of her, his ability to cling to that softness was rapidly disappearing.

“I’ll be yours,” she whispered, her fingertips finding the scar that split his face, and he wondered if she felt beautiful in the reflection she saw shining back at her in his sapphire eye.

Those three words rended away his self control and he could not help but pull back, thrusting forward, and he moaned at the delicious friction. Wylla clung to him, her nails raking over his back, and he was surprised at how she matched each roll of his hips, as if even an inch between their bodies was too much.

It was only moments, but time stretched out strange and foreign before him as he fucked her, his face buried in her neck, his teeth catching purchase against her throat.

“Please, please, please.”

It was Wylla murmuring the words and they echoed in his mind, bouncing between the walls of his skull. He knew his end was near, that hot sensation gathering at the base of his spine. Aemond moved to pull back, to spill across her belly, not wanting to assume or risk getting a child on her before he had a chance to plead his case for her hand. But something instinctual in Wylla rose up, and she hooked her leg over his hip, holding him inside of her until he could hold back no longer and came with a groan of her name.

For a long moment, they simply lay there, him sprawled over her, his face against her chest. Wylla’s fingers found his hair, and she combed at the snarls she had tangled therein, the gesture shockingly comfortable for all of its intimacy.

“I warn you, my father is not the most agreeable man.” There was something hard in her voice, something full of resentment.

He looked up at her, resting his chin against his hand where it lay on her belly. “Good then, that I boast the largest and most ancient dragon in the realm.”

Wylla rolled her eyes. “Good then, that you also boast the largest ego in the realm.”

He crawled up her body and kissed her, just a soft press of his lips to hers. “Have I not earned it?”

The girl flushed crimson, a delicious sight. “I suppose,” was all she said, but he took it as confirmation and gathered her into his arms, dropping back against the pillows. A minute twisted in a few and he felt his eyes grow heavy, the fox a warm weight against his chest. Her fingers traced idle patterns over the skin of his stomach as she settled.

There was a sigh, a small shift that pressed her closer.

“Fine,” she huffed, pressing her face against him. “I’ll marry you.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #aemond x wylla #aemond targaryen x original character #fyeahhotdocs #fyeahgotocs

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soullesserror · 7 months

Text

q!Tubbo Headcanons

This is gonna be a long one, so buckle up! There’s gonna be several sections and some headcanons are from other people and I will not care if you ‘steal’ mine, in fact I will actively encourage you to do so

All of this will be about the cubitos, even if I didn't put q! before every name

Visual (Outsider perspective)

His eyes looks like they’re clouded in a way? very muted, almost grey, green

He has a bunch of scars running across his face and assumably the rest of his body that looks like lightning or cracks

Brown hair with blonde tips, but when he joined it was just blonde

He’s missing an arm from spinning the wheel and replaced is with a robotic one that he can change depending on what tool he needs

He looks like some sort of avian. Sometimes.

...and sometimes, he looks like some sort of dragon.

Sometimes he looks like a goat!

Species

Tubbo is a very specific type of shapeshifter! He takes on traits from the people he hangs around the most, or the people he trusts a lot. And the eggs recognise that which is why Chayanne calls him an egg - because they do it too!

Some traits include

— The blonde hair, he got it from Phil, the reason it’s mainly brown now is because of Coypiso (will explain more)

— Feathers that kinda look like wings, got them from Phil

— Fangs, he got them from the eggs

— Talons/claws, from both Phil and Pac

It’s mostly from Phil, because they knew each other before Tubbo was unfrozen, and also I think Tubbo would say his prosthetic is enough mimicking Pac and Fit

He can hide these features, and he does with the wings because they get in the wings. When he first joined the island, he shifted between the different traits he's picked up on over the years (goat/bugs/avian/dragon) and depending on who he was talking to he was a different one. All of them included talons, and later on fangs after meeting the eggs.

Tubbo and god.

Tubbo is friends with a lot of demigods and knows a Goddess, who happens to be the wife of Philza!

The three that are the most present in his life on the island are

— Tommyinnit

— Bekymon

— piso4 / coypiso

Some posts that are related to this

What they’re demigods of

Who Tubbo follows also more thoughts on the demigods, how Tubbo connects with them etc

Who Tommy is connected to (and also how that relates to Phil and Wilbur)

The lightning that strikes him down? I don't think that's the feds. I think the admins and federation should be seperated more because they are. The admins are the ones striking Tubbo with lightning and blinding him. The admins are a higher power. That also absolutely hates Tubbo's guts because he has befriended three demigods, possibly more, and knows the Angel of Death, and the actual Goddess of Death. And their son, Wilbur.

He gets possessed by people a lot!! He's such a vessel and constantly has people talking inside his head or taking over his body. Chat is actually voices inside his head.

Just silly extra stuff

This is kind of species thing but also.. not? Tubbo can hear machines in a way only really aypierre can? Even then it's very different, because pierre speaks to the machines. Tubbo doesn't. Tubbo just like.. gets them.

Tubbo straight up has a phone. Why? Who knows! How did he get it? Good question! Why on god's green earth is the federation letting him keep it? Because they don't even know he has one. Who does, you ask? Nobody! Except for Chayanne because he called Jack Manifold that one time. Tubbo only uses it to call his friends and text his parents. He doesn't even realize he could use it to get out of here, or that maybe he should tell people he has phone.

The reason for Tubbo's eyes looking cloudy is mostly visual design! His vision is so much worse because of the fact he gets blinded by the admins so much that it permanently affected his eyesight. His goggles help him see better, he added prescription to them so he could see.

This post will absolutely get added onto as time goes on, I hope everyone who read this like my silly headcanons

#qsmp #qsmp tubbo #q!tubbo #qsmp headcanons #q!tubbo headcanons

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ceruleancattail · 9 months

Note

AAA I'VE KEPT THIS IDEA FOR TOO LONG,,

Yandere Rook taking beastman reader's horns or antlers or anything really,, Displaying it like some kind of trophy,, screams

Anon you have enabled me, I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done.

The Hunter’s prize

Rook Hunt x reader

Tw: Mutilation, reader has antlers, gore. Rook hunts you down. I had too much fun writing this-

Rook loves the hunt. He lives for it, the thrill running hot like lightning, flowing freely through his veins.

There was just something so intimate about holding his bow steady, narrowing his gaze down to you and you alone.

Your wary face, eyes glancing from right to left. The way your lips curl upwards, pulled into a thin line. Nervously twitching at every sound, cold beads of sweat spilling down the nape of your neck.

Oh, he has the most wonderful view of you, love.

Swiftly, he has an arrow notched onto the bow, yanked back deftly. The string tugs against his fingers, red lines cutting into the very tip of his fingers. It stung, ever so slightly. Needle piercing flesh.

A shaky breath, as Rook’s eyes narrow. Concentrating on your form. In a way, it was rather romantic. Nothing but the wild greenery rustling with the wind, and both of you.

Hunter, and prey.

Lover, and the loved.

Really, was there much difference in the two? Both involve chasing and… eventually marking your ownership over the other. Rook simply prefers a more… traditional way of doing so.

He takes a breath.

He lets the arrow fly.

It imbeds itself deep into your shoulder, blade sinking itself in your flesh. At once, you freeze. Knees knocking against each other, a numbness spreading rapidly across your body. It gnawed with a grim determination. It but down on your very your bones, rendering every muscle useless.

Down you fell, face smashing against the ground. Dirt coats your cheek, your face burning red hot from the impact. It stung, flames burning bright. A guttural scream tore out from the depths of your stomach, clawing it’s way out of your throat.

A weight presses itself onto your back, gently tugging your arms behind. Rook pins you down, a little too effectively for your comfort. He’s done this, too many times for you to count.

Pooling your saliva in your mouth, you muster enough strength to glare daggers at him. Before your lips curl, hurling a sharp spit at that dastardly smirk. Rook dodges with ease, before his fingers find their way into your hair. Those slender fingers entangle themselves with your locks, before yanking upwards.

A swift movement that had your neck craning upwards, and your throat going dry. Gagging, you struggle. At least, as much as your drugged body would allow. Flipping around like a worm, you trash about under Rook’s weight.

A tut rings through the air, as Rook reinforces his hold. His lips brush against the very top of your ear. Soft, remarkably so. A rather stark contrast from the dirt and the dust you lay on.

A sultry whisper, voice trailing off somewhat breathlessly.

“Now, now, Mon cherie.

You lost the hunt, didn’t you?

As admirable as your struggle is, it’s about time for me to claim my price, no?”

His fingers close around the base of your antlers. They tap on it playfully, rising and falling. Every touch sent shivers down your spine. Your fingers trembled, cold and clammy. Frost spread its way through your body, pricking at your skin.

Your gut churned uncomfortably, wilder then any storm. The acidity of bile laps at the back of your throat, thrusting to spill over at any second.

Your vision blurs, as tears crawl down your cheeks. Mustering up all your anger, you glare daggers at Rook. Even then, there was an underlying fear deep within your pupils. A plea, a desperate one.

Please don’t do it.

A gentle touch. Rook curls his finger, carefully dabbing away your tears. His palm presses against your cheek, cupping it lovingly.

Despite yourself, you dared to hope. Hope that Rook would spare you, that he’ll leave you alone-

Until a deafening crack echoed through the air.

White hot pain flashed before your eyes, the top of your head throbbing madly. Every single nerve in your body was set ablaze, screeching at the top of their lungs. Pain wrecks your soul, sinking its jagged claws into your body, tearing it up from inside and out.

Agony.

It was agony.

In the midst of all your pain, you could feel Rook stroke your cheek. Pressing soft, fleeting kisses into your head. A gaping hole, the bright scarlet of raw flesh.

His lips were dyed red as well.

The crimson of your blood.

How sickening.

Vision hazy, you just manage to catch a glance of Rook’s hands. Your antler, twisted around in his hands. Rook handles it gingerly, as if it was a precious treasure, uncovered from the earth.

As if it wasn’t a gross mutilation, unceremoniously yanked out from your own damn head.

He notices your stare. Of course, he notices everything. Especially when it came to you.

His beloved… cherie.

“Ah, do not fear, my love.”

You feel a weight press into your skull, fingers wrapping around the base of your other antler.

Dread settles deep in your stomach. Cold and heavy, weighing down your heart. Your eyes widen, fear clear within them.

Rook gives you a smile. Gentle and soft, a kind smile.

If only that vile amusement wasn’t obvious.

“There’s just one more to claim.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere x reader #rook hunt #rook #rook x reader #yandere rook x reader #rook hunt x reader #yandere rook hunt x reader #protection potion♦️

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iamumbra195 · 6 months

Text

Somewhere Far Away From Here

Summary:

Red peeked through as another piece of rubble was pushed aside and the knot in his chest loosened for a moment before they pushed the last piece of rubble and he realized that it wasn’t red fabric he was looking at. It was blood.

Miles saves his dad but it comes at a cost no one was expecting

People rushed by him in hordes, shoulders and elbows jabbing into him as he looked around to see if there was anyone still in need of help here.

Spot was high in the air, broken technicolour and black lightning flashing around him as Brooklyn was slowly reduced to rubble, the attacks getting closer and closer until Jeff could feel a familiar warning tug of danger in his gut.

With one final sweep of the landscape, he spun on his heel and made to follow after the crowd only to catch a hint of red in his peripheral just seconds before a child’s cry echoed in his ears. Whirling back around, he caught sight of a child in a red shirt crouched on the ground crying and his body moved before he could think, racing towards the child even as the building nearby began to crumble.

Relief flooded him when he managed to gather them in his arms just in time, ducking out of the way of the crumbling rubble but it was short-lived.

A shadow loomed over them– the entire rooftop was coming down upon them, too fast for Jeff to make a break for it. Terror clawed up his throat but he curled himself more protectively over the child in hopes that at least they would survive, a silent apology to his family echoing in his head and—

Something black and red rammed into him with the full force of a freight train, sending them flying in another direction just seconds before the rubble crashed and they were blown away even further, skidding and rolling against the concrete before they slowed to a stop.

Jeff remained frozen in that position, seconds ticking by as his heart beat audibly in his chest and the ringing in his ears grew more silent.

He was alive.

The thought spurred him into action, taking stock of the situation and making sure the kid in his arms was still alive.

His leg was half buried beneath some rubble and every movement sent a bolt of pain shooting through his body but the kid was fine, suffering from a few scrapes and bruises that brought tears to her eyes but fine for the most part.

It took a few painful attempts but Jeff managed to pull his leg free, certain he had at the very least broken his ankle.

But considering what he had really expected to happen at that moment, a broken ankle seemed like a blessing in comparison. But who…

Black and red. Spider-Man.

( Don’t forget the hyphen , a young voice added in the back of his mind)

Turning back to the rubble, Jeff desperately searched for any sign of the young hero as the dust from the collision settled, only to find nothing.

“Spider–” he broke out into a coughing fit after inhaling the smoke. “Spider-Man! Kid, are you okay?”

No answer.

Panic welled up inside him as the silence stretched and he pulled himself to his feet, grabbing a piece of rebar to steady himself as he limped towards the large pile of rubble just meters away from him.

“Spider-Man!” he shouted once more and—

“MILES!”

What?

Jeff recognized the voice before he saw who it belonged to, dread settling in his gut when rather than that punk girl from last night he saw one of Spider-Man’s companions from the collider disaster last year just as she landed.

‘I’m going to find him.’

She sprinted towards the rubble, a broken stream of denials and his son’s name escaping her mouth as she threw aside piece of rubble after piece of rubble with an air of desperation thick enough to choke on.

“Blondie!”

Jeff knew that voice too, had memorized the cadence and diction in its many forms but there was something off, something that wasn’t quite right.

Someone new rushed towards the girl and grasped her shoulder, dressed in a costume that looked frighteningly similar to the one the Prowler– the one Aaron had worn.

“What happened?!”

“He–” the masked girl gasped and trembled, throwing the new character off of her as she returned to her task. “He’s under here. I saw him– his dad, he saved him but he’s still under, we need to get him out.”

The boy was unnaturally still for a moment before he joined her in her frenzy, flinging rubble in every direction without a care for anything around them.

Jeff could only stare at them, frozen as their words echoed over and over in his head but his mind refused to connect the dots and understand what was going on, afraid of the conclusion he would come to.

It was blood.

Spider-Man lay motionless in a puddle of crimson, his neck twisted in an impossible direction and a pole skewered through his middle.

It was like the oxygen had been sucked out of Jeff’s lungs all at once, a sharp exhale escaping him as he gazed at the gruesome sight with his heart beating painfully in his chest.

“No,” the girl said in a broken whisper, the lens on her mask growing impossibly wide as she stumbled forward and fell to her knees right next to the hero’s broken body. “No, no, no. Miles, please, you can’t– this isn’t happening.”

She’s grasping the boy’s face now, pushing up his mask and revealing a face that made Jeff’s world crumble beneath because he knew it but the person underneath the mask couldn’t be him. Couldn’t be his son.

Couldn’t be Miles.

She shook the body, pleading for a response they all knew wasn’t coming. “We saved your dad, c’mon! Get up, Miles! Spider-Man always gets back up, right?”

Jeff wanted to tell her to shut up, to stop calling that dead body by his son’s name, but his tongue was glued to his mouth and his body was frozen in place, refusing to respond to his commands.

A blur of colour landed nearby and rushed over. “Gwendy! Is everything al–”

The newcomer’s voice broke off but the girl seemed to latch on to it, tearing herself away from the body to look at him. “Hobie! Please, we need to get him to a hospital!” she begged.

‘Hobie’ remained silent, the lenses of his mask just as wide as the girl’s.

“Hobie!”

“Gwen…” he began softly.

“ Don’t!” the girl screamed. “Don’t talk to me like that! We can still help him! We can still…” Her voice broke into a shuddering sob, gasping like the air was too thick to swallow. “No, no, no… please, not him…” Her hands twisted into the fabric of her mask. “I shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have come to see him… ”

Jeff couldn’t focus on her any longer, unable to tear his gaze away from the bloody site of the young boy behind the mask. His throat grew tighter as his eyes traced the familiar outline of his face, frozen in a twisted expression of terror and pain.

Spider-Man was dead.

His son was dead.

Some cold slithered beneath his skin, coiling around his neck and strangling him as each breath came out more shallow than the last, his chest growing tighter with every second it was deprived of oxygen.

Spider-Man was dead.

Spider-Man who had been a little thorn in his side for a little over a year, Spider-Man who was young and hopeful, who tried his best to help in every way he could, who put himself in the way of fire to protect the people of New York from villains that grew bigger and stronger with every passing, who slapped silly stickers on the foreheads of criminals before dumping near a patrolling police car.

Spider-Man who stuck close to Jeff as if it was second nature, with a familiar stature and attitude Jeff could never put his finger on.

Spider-Man who was undeniably similar to his son.

Spider-Man who was his son.

Spider-Man who was dead.

Miles was dead.

Jeff could not breathe, each breath coming out in little gasps of air as he tried to call for his son’s name but his throat was closing up, his words caught in the thick knot of emotion that was making it hard to breathe.

“Well, isn’t this quite the sight?”

In a mere second, all the emotions within him transformed into a hideous black rage, twisting into a horrible creature that roared in his chest, his ribs rattling under the force of it.

That voice. That thing.

Spot.

He wanted to tear it apart limb by limb, to make it feel the pain that felt like it was tearing his heart apart because it had taken his son.

It hung above them, broken technicolour and black lightning still flashing around it

“You…,” the girl muttered, her voice trembling in a manner that spoke of anger rather than fear. Her mask no longer covered her face, expression shadowed by familiar uneven blond hair and Jeff knew who she was.

It was like a final nail in his son’s coffin.

And there was nothing Jeff could do.

He was helpless in this fight, unable to do anything more than run around like a headless chicken and hope he could save as many people without doing anything to stop the source of the problem.

To think he had once believed himself to be capable of doing Spider-Man’s job, believing the vigilante to be nothing more than a glory-seeking moron who swung in to steal all the credit and play superhero.

What could Jeff do in the face of the monstrosity that had killed his son?

Nothing.

“Gwen Stacy! This is a nice flip of the narrative, isn’t it?”

“Shut up…,” she said, expression twisted into one of pure unadulterated rage. “ I’ll kill you!”With inhuman strength, she hurled a piece of rubble at the monster and flew at him with reckless abandon, her companions joining her without a word and something in Jeff ached.

There was nothing he could do. He was weak, tied down by the constraints of human strength when he wanted nothing more than to join them and tear his son’s killer apart.

But he was weak.

So he tore his eyes from them once more and limped towards his son as fast as he could, the distance between them seeming endless even as the blurry details of Miles’ face grew clearer with every step.

His son. His boy. Miles.

His legs collapsed beneath him as he reached Miles, shaky hands cupping his cheeks and the skin was frighteningly cold beneath his touch. Jeff’s eyes blurred with tears that flowed down his cheeks because his son was gone, leaving behind a husk of who he was for Jeff to bury.

With every second that passed, he hoped he would wake up from this terrible nightmare, that hand on the clock would spin back and he could fix this all. But it never happened.

Miles was gone.

He was helpless to change the fact that his son, the baby boy that he had raised and watched grow up was gone.

He would never see him laugh or smile or draw another one of his pictures or argue with Jeff over every little thing because he was a teenager who refused to listen and wanted to grow up so fast it made Jeff’s head spin

The boy he had raised and watched grow up was limp in his arms, his bright expression replaced with one of terror and his clothes replaced with those of a hero. The boy he had raised and the young hero he watched fight freaks of nature were one and the same.

Perhaps Jeff had always known in the back of his mind that the boy behind the mask and the boy he drove to school nearly every Monday were one and the same.

How could he not when the boy beneath the mask had hugged him in search of security with the same figure as the boy he had raised for fourteen years? How could he not when he had told him he loved him with a surety that spoke of habit?

But that boy had died for him. Because of him.

And Jeff had been too late to save him.

He was always late when it mattered most.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There are two terrible endings to this scenario

1. Spot kills everyone and wins 2. Gwen kills Spot, he explodes into dark matter that destabilizes Earth 1610 and cuts it off from the rest of the multiverse as it slowly self-destructs and poisons its inhabitants (all the citizens as well as all the spider ppl) to a slow, painful glitchy death

The title is because 'Sign of the times' just reminded me so much of Miles and his dad

Check out my Ao3: Umbra195

This was inspired by that one tiktok sound from Fiona and cake 'you were a wonderful experience' 'you were... everything'

I'm not sorry

#spider man: across the spider verse #spiderverse au #miles morales #jefferson morales #jefferson davis #gwen stacy #hobie brown #prowler miles #earth 42 miles morales #spiderverse fanfic #family feels #angst #character death

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